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Jan. 1959 • 35 Cen

SCIENCE FICTION

3 FACES OF CRIPPLING

JOIN THE MARCH OF DIMES

■ ■■H TOWARD GREATER VICTORIES ■■■ ■■

LOOKING TO YOU FOR HELP . . .

All three share one dream — to grow up able to
move about and lead healthy normal lives. The
March of Dimes can help them realize that dream
if you give generously.

{ VOL. LXII • NO. 5

Astounding

SCIENCE FICTION

Novelettes

To Run the Rim, A. Bertram Chandler
Robin Hood’s Barn, Poul Anderson . .

January

1959

Deadlock, Robert and Barbara Silverberg . 92

Short Stories

By .New Hearth Fires, Gordon R. Dickson . 40

Seedling, Charles V. de Vet 83

Study in Still Life, Eric Frank Russell . . . 122

Readers' Departments

The Editor’s Page 4

In Times to Come 39

The Analytical Laboratory 53

The Reference Library, P. Schuyler Miller 144.
Brass Tacks 155

JOHN W. CAMPBELL, JR. KAY TARRANT

Cdiior Assistant Editor

\ The editorial contents bare not been

■ published before, are protected by
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■ without publisher's permission. All
f stories Ln this magazine are Qclion.
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■ is coincidental.

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DITORI AL

MUST

STUDY PSI

HE essential concept of
truth-seeking is that a
truth must be accepted,

■ whether it is favorable
or unfavorable, desired
or dreaded, whether it means riches
and happiness, or stark madness.
There is, in the concept of the Scien-
tific Method, the fundamental propo-
sition that there are Laws in an or-
dered Universe; that we must learn
those laws — whether we like them or
not.

During the last four years, I’ve
been investigating psi; I started the
investigation largely because it has
been a background element in science
fiction, almost from the start. Telep-
athy has been stock business. E. E.
Smith’s Lensman series was based
primarily on psi — for the Lens itself
is, essentially, a psi machine.

With the development of science

into engineering proceeding at the
pace it has, by 1950 the major devel-
opments that science fiction had been
forecasting were definitely under en-
gineering — not theoretical — study. It
was time for us to move on, if we
were to fulfill our function as a
frontier literature.

To some extent, science fiction
moved on into the social sciences —
sociology, anthropology and psychol-
ogy-

item: Dr. Rhine originally started
his investigation of psi because, as a
professional psychologist, he had
come to the conclusion that psychol-
ogy-as-such lacked an essential ele-
ment. You would have an exceeding-
ly hard time working out biochemis-
try, if your chemistry hadn’t discov-
ered nitrogen, for example. Rhine’s
studies led him to suspect something
about as important as nitrogen to bio-

ASTOUNDING SCIENCE FICTION

chemistry was missing from psychol-
ogy-

item : every anthropologist is aware
of the important part magic — the psi
phenomena under their older name —
plays in human cultures.

Item: Every sociologist is aware
that you can’t make a population be-
have in a logical manner — cultural
superstitions defy logical analysis,
logical argument, and logical forces.

I was forced back toward psi, even
when science fiction started toward
the social sciences.

Since I published the editorial in
the February 1956 issue, suggesting
running material on psi machines, I
have been receiving quantities of in-
formation, from hundreds of sources.

I have an advantage that few peo-
ple have; there are people all over
this planet reading Astounding, and
for many it evidently has a very per-
sonal meaning. I hear from them. I
can’t answer all; many times no in-
dividual letter, or clipping, or reprint
sent me has much specific value. But
they, taken together, form a sort of
Ishihara Color Vision Test phenom-
enon; no one mass of any one color
on the Ishihara Color test disks has
any meaning — it’s the pattern made
of hundreds of individually mean-
ingless dots of pastel color that build
the pattern.

I’ve written a bit about the Hier-
onymus machine; recently we ran an
item about the pipe-locators used by
W. F. Marklund of the City of Flint,
Michigan. A considerable number of
people tried the Hieronymus ma-
chine; it proved to be a repeatable

WE MUST STUDY PSI

experiment in the best scientific
sense. Individuals instructed only by
the printed word were able to dupli-
cate the phenomena.

But I have not reported even one
per cent of the data that has come to
my attention. I visited the George de
la Warr laboratories when I was in
England for the 1957 Science Fiction
Convention. I’ve visited other psi-
machine laboratories in Canada, and
the United States. I’ve watched illegal
— but beneficial! — medical diagnosis
and treatment by psi machine. I’ve
seen records of psi machines used to
destroy insect pests in crops.

That, by the way, was a particular-
ly interesting item. The State Depart-
ment of Agriculture checkers were
asked to check the experiment. They
did so; standard Department of Agri-
culture evaluation techniques were
used — alternate strips on farms scat-
tered over five counties — some ninety
farms in all — were treated, while in-
tervening strips were left untreated
as control patches. The checks were
made at intervals by Department of
Agriculture employees.

At the end of the season, their fig-
ures showed that ninety-five per cent
of the Japanese Beetles on the test
plots had been killed.

And at that point, for the first
time, the Department of Agriculture
learned that their checks had not
been made on a new chemical insecti-
cide.

The Department immediately re-
fused to acknowledge the results of
their tests. There’s no use writing me
to ask which state it was, because

that state department will deny the
check’s validity.

The treatment was made by treat-
ment of photographs, at distances
ranging from one hundred twenty
feet to five hundred miles.

This treatment has, incidentally,
shown equally sound evidence of its
ability to successfully combat Dutch
Elm Disease, and Oak Wilt, which
cannot be stopped by any orthodox
technique.

Any anthropologist can tell you
that the "superstitions” or magical
concepts of North American Indians,
Australian aborigines, African Ne-
groes, Chilean Indians, the ancient
Chinese, the early Norse, the Polyne-
sians, and the Mediterranean peoples
contain many identical concepts.
These peoples have not had commu-
nication for many thousands of years
— particularly the Australian abo-
rigines.

. Now while I do hold that democ-
racy can go too far, I also hold that
democracy has a great, deep value —
and the essential of that value might
be phrased "You can’t fool all the
people very long.” A completely
functionless belief won’t fool all the
people for tens of thousands of years.

There must be a factor in the
Universe itself which those immense-
ly widely scattered peoples have, in-
dependently, experienced, and exper-
ienced with sufficient regularity to
make those concepts remain part of
human cultures.

Ours is the only culture that offi-
cially denies Magic. And . . . ours

does not, by several millennia, qualify
as a "very long” culture. The denial
of magic is only about three centuries
old. You can fool a large percentage
of a people for that short a period of
time.

The psi machines I’ve encountered
work — and they work on precisely
the same ancient laws of Magic that
those wide-scattered peoples have, in-
dependently, accepted.

I’ve had that point countered by
“Yes, but the common factor is the
nature of Man — he wants it to work
that way! Therefore peoples every-
where have accepted it. It’s human
nature, not reality, at work!”

Oh? Then how come human na-
ture evolved that tendency? How
come no mutations came along to
produce a human variant without that
time-effort-energy wasting tendency,
huh? Why is it, then, that no hu-
man culture, anywhere, has survived
even three generations after giving
up the interrelated concepts of magic
and religion?

If that is, as stated, a fundamental
of human nature . . . why? We can
understand why resistance to disease
is a fundamental of human nature —
and why a breed that loses that re-
sistance dies out suddenly.

All right— I’ll accept that the ex-
planation for the similarity of beliefs
among Australian aborigines, Tierra
del Fuegians, Africans, Eskimos and
Polynesians is due solely to the fun-
damental similarity of human nature
the whole world over.

Why is human nature that way?

And so long as psychologists, an-

ASTOUNDING SCIENCE FICTION

The Pipe Locator drawing above shows the type used by many practicing utilities engineers,
the not- inhibited-by- theory types, for locating buried pipes and/or cables. In use, they are held
like a two-gun Westerner’s two guns, pointing straight ahead, and at about chest height. Walk
back and forth across the area under investigation, trying to intersect the line of the hunted pipe.
The rods will swing to parallel the line of the pipe as you cross it — either swinging away from
each other, or crossing each other. Which reaction turns up seems to depend on the individual,
not on the rods.

About eighty per cent of the adults seem to get results ; if you don’t, let your friends and
associates try.

Using them seems to be somewhat like “learning to hear” ; anyone with functional ears can
hear — but it takes some training to interpret what you hear : e. g., distinguishing the sounds pro-
duced by a thrush from those of a robin or blue jay. At first use of the rods, you’ll tend to react
to all buried conduits; with practice, you’ll become more sophisticated in interpretation, and
distinguish between, say, water, gas, and sewer pipes.

The operation of these rods is scientifically impossible and is. logically, nonsense. This is
extremely interesting, because they work — which, under the rules of the Scientific Method, means
that the theory that Science embraces all real phenomena has encountered the fact that it doesn’t,
and must, therefore, be abandoned. Suggested modification ; Science and only Science explains
many real phenomena.

thropologists and sociologists insist
"We know it shouldn’t be that way,”
without bothering to study why all
human peoples are that way . . . why,
so long they are apt to miss the fun-
damentals of the fields they are inter-
ested in.

You cannot escape studying Magic,
denying that there is any common
phenomenon in the Universe, by
saying "It’s just human nature.” Be-
cause if you say that, then you are
duty-bound to explain why human
nature continues to be that way, mil-
lennium after millennium. If it is in
truth wasted effort, then any people
who abandoned magic would have
conserved that effort for other things,
and would have been able to displace
the competing tribes.

Why is Magic fundamental in all
human peoples?

I suggest that the answer is "Be-
cause there is a set of phenomena in
the Universe that requires intelligent
entities to have that characteristic.”
Like it or not, Marklund in Flint,
power company engineers in Eng-
land, steel plant maintenance engi-
neers in Bethlehem, Pennsylvania,
and in a hundred other places, use
dowsing rods to locate underground
lines that they are interested in. An
engineer with a job to do doesn’t
give a damn whether the tool he uses
is scientifically sound; he does care
that it works for him.

And they’re very strange tools in-
deed; for Marklund, the rods locate
water pipes, and don’t react to buried
power cables. For power company
engineers, they react faithfully to
buried cables, and are not thrown off
( Continued on page 159)

WE MUST STUDY PS1

RUN THE RIM

BY A. BERTRAM CHANDLER

There are some men for whom Security is
no reward — but it takes time to learn that!

Illustrated by Sum men
8

ASTOUNDING SCIENCE FICTION

LOWLY and carefully
— as befitted her years,
which were many — the
star tramp Ariel drop-
ped down to Port For-
lorn. Calver, her second mate, looked
out and down from the control room
viewports to the uninviting scene be-
low, to the vista of almost barren
hills and mountains scarred by mine
workings, to the great slag heaps that
were hills themselves, to the ugly lit-
tle towns, each one of which was
dominated by the tall, smoke belch-
ing chimneys of factories and refin-
eries, to the rivers that, even from
this altitude, looked like sluggish
streams of sewage.

So this, he thought, is Lorn, indus-
trial hub of the Rim Worlds. This
is as far as I go. This is where
I get off. There’s no farther to
g°-

Captain Bowers, satisfied that the
ship was riding down easily under
automatic control, turned to his sec-
ond officer.

"Are you sure that you want to pay
off here, Mr. Calver?’’ he asked.
"Are you quite sure? You’re a good
officer, and we could use you. The
Shakespearian Line mightn’t be up to
Commission standards, but it’s not a
bad outfit.’’

"Thank you, sir,’’ replied Calver,
xaising his voice slightly to make
himself heard over the subdued
thunder of the rockets, "but I’m sure.
I signed on in Elsinore with the un-
derstanding that I was to be paid off
on the Rim. The Third’s quite capa-
ble of taking over.”

"You want your head read,” grunt-
ed Harris, the Mate.

"Perhaps,” said Calver.

And perhaps I do, he thought.
How much of this is sheer masoch-
ism, this flight from the warm, happy
worlds of the Center to these desolate
Rim planets? Could it have been the
names that appealed to me? Thule,
Ultimo, Faraway and Lorn . . .

"The usual cross wind, damn it!”
swore Bowers, hastily turning his at-
tention to the controls. The old ship
shuddered as the corrective blasts
were fired and, momentarily, the
noise in the control room rose to an
intolerable level.

When things had quietened down
again Harris said, "It’s always windy
on Lorn, and the wind is always cold
and dusty and stinking with the
fumes of burning sulfur . . .”

"I’ll not be staying on Lorn,” said
Calver. "I’ve been too long in Space
to go looking for a shore job, espe-
cially when there’s no inducement.”

"Going to try the Rim Runners?”
asked Captain Bowers.

"Yes. I believe they’re short of
officers.”

"They always are," said Harris.

"Why not stay with us?” queried
the captain.

"Thanks again, sir, but . .

"The Rim Runners!” snorted the
mate. "You’ll find an odd bunch
there, Calver. Refugees from the In-
terstellar Transport Commission,
from the Survey Service, the Waver-
ley Royal Mail and the Trans-Galac-
tic Clippers . . .”

"I’m a refugee from the Commis-

TO RUN THE RIM

sion myself,” said Calver wryly.

Port Forlorn was close now, too
close for further conversation, the
dirty, scarred concrete apron rushing
up to meet them. Ariel dropped
through a cloud of scintillating par-
ticles, the dust raised by her back-
blast and fired to brief incandescence.
She touched, sagged tiredly, her struc-
ture creaking like old bones. The sud-
den silence, as the rockets died, seem-
ed unnatural.

- Harris broke it. "And their ships,”
he said. "Their ships . . . All ancient
crocks, mostly worn out Epsilon
Glass tubs thrown out by the Com-
mission. I’m told that they even have
one or two of the old Ehrenhaft
Drive jobs.”

"Wasn’t Ariel once Epsilon Sex-
tans?” asked Calver mildly.

"Yes, but she’s different," said
Harris affectionately.

Yes, thought Calver, standing at
the foot of the ramp to the air lock,
Ariel was different. A worn-out Ep-
silon Class wagon she may have been,
but she still had pride, just as her
master and officers still had pride in
her. This Lorn Lady was a ship of
the same class, probably no older
than Ariel, but she looked a wreck.

Calver looked down at his shoes,
which had been highly polished
when he left his hotel, saw that they
were already covered with a tfrick
film of dust. A sidewise glance down
at his epaulettes- — -the new ones, with
their Rim Runners second officer’s
braid, on the old tunic — told him
that they also were dusty. He disliked

to board a ship, any ship, untidily
dressed. He brushed his shoulders
with his hand, used a handkerchief,
which he afterwards threw away, to
restore the shine to his shoes. He
climbed the shaky ramp.

There was no air lock watch — but
Calver had learned that the outward
standards of efficiency diminished,
almost according to the Law of In-
verse Squares, with increasing dis-
tance from the Galactic center. There
was a telephone. After studying the
selector board Calver pressed the but-
ton labeled Chief Officer. There was
no reply. He tried Control Room,
Purser and then Captain. He replaced
the useless instrument on its rest,
opened the inner air lock door. He
was agreeably surprised . to find that
the manual controls worked easily
and smoothly. He picked up his bags,
went into the ship. He was familiar
enough with the layout of this type
of vessel and went straight to the
axial shaft. The newer Epsilon Class
ships boasted a light elevator for use
in port. Calver was not amazed to
discover that Lorn Lady did not run
to such a luxury.

There was somebody clattering
down the spiral stairway that led up
to the officers’ accommodation. Calver
stood there and waited. The owner
of the noisy feet dropped into view.
He was a man of Calver’ s age, no
longer young. His uniform was tight
on his stocky frame. He wore Rim
Runners epaulettes — the three gold
bars of a chief officer with, above
them, the winged wheel — but his cap
badge was an elaborate affair of stars

ASTOUNDING SCIENCE FICTION

and rockets surmounted by an ornate
crown.

He looked up at Calver when he
reached the deck, making the tall
man suddenly conscious of his gan-
gling height. He said, ''You’ll be the
new second. I’m the mate. MacLean’s
the name. Welcome aboard.”

They shook hands.

''I'll go up to my cabin and drop
my bags,” said Calver. "I’ve seen
enough of Port Forlorn to last me
a while so, if you like, I’ll keep the
night aboard.”

"Night aboard? There’s no ship-
keeping here," laughed MacLean.
"There’s no cargo working tonight
either. The" night watchman will be
on duty in an hour or so, and he’s
fairly reliable.”

Calver looked as shocked as he
felt.

"I know how you feel,” said the
mate, "but you’ll get over it. I used
to feel the same way myself when I
first came out to the Rim — after the
Royal Mail it seemed very slovenly.”

"I’m afraid it does.”

"You’re out of the Commission’s
ships, aren’t you?”

"Yes.”

"I thought as much. You’re a typi-
cal Commission officer — middle-aged
before your . time, stiff and starchy
and a stickler for regulations. Any-
how, up you go and park your bags.
I’ll wait for you here. Then we’ll
go and have a couple or three
drinks to wash this dust out of our
throats.”

Calver found his cabin without any
trouble. It was, to his relief, reasona-

bly clean. He left his bags under his
bunk, went down to the air lock
where MacLean was waiting for him.
The two men walked down the ramp
together.

"You’ll not find Commission
standards here,” said the mate. "Or,
come to that, Royal Mail standards.
We keep the ships safe and reasona-
bly efficient, but there’s neither mon-
ey nor labor to spare for spit and
polish."

"So I've noticed."

"So I noticed, too, when I first
came out to the Rim. And if I hadn’t
told Commodore Sir Archibald Sin-
clair to his face what an idiot he was
I’d still be with the Royal Mail, still
keeping my night on board in port
and making sure that a proper air
lock watch was being maintained, and
all the rest of it. There’s not a bad
little pub just outside the spaceport
gates. Do you feel like trying it?”

"As you please,” said Calver.

The pub was better inside than out,
almost achieving coziness. It was, at
this early hour of the evening, prac-
tically deserted. Calver and MacLean
sat down at one of the tables. The
slatternly girl who served them did
not ask for their order but brought a
bottle of whisky, with graduations
up its side, two glasses and a jug of
water.

"They know me here,” said Mac-
Lean unnecessarily. He raised his
glass. "Here’s to crime.”

After a few more drinks Calver
said, "Would you mind putting me
in the picture, MacLean ? They seem-

TO BUN THE RIU

ed very vague in the office when I
joined the Company."

"They always are,” said the mate.
"Besides, you hadn’t yet signed the
Articles. I suppose you noticed the
Secrecy Clause?”

"I did.”

”1 suppose you thought that it was
a rather odd clause to find in a ship’s
Articles. But it’s there for a reason.
Your predecessor talked out of place
and out of turn, and that’s why he’s
doing his spell in the mines, under
guard.”

"What ! Surely they wouldn’t — ”

"They would, Calver — and his case
they did. Bear in mind that Rim
Runners is, practically, a gov-
ernment shipping line, and that all of
us are automatically officers of the
Naval Reserve . . .

"Anyhow” — he glanced around,
made sure that there was nobody
within earshot — "this is the way , of
it. Until very recently Rim Runners
owned only a handful of ships and
served only four planetary systems —
those of Thule, Ultimo, Faraway and
Lorn. Just puddle- jumping by our
standards. Even then they had to keep
on recruiting officers from the rest of
the galaxy. They don’t like Deep
Space, these Rim Worlders. They’re
scared of it. I suppose that it’s be-
cause for all their lives they’ve been
hanging over the edge of the ultimate
pit by their eyebrows.

"But the Rim Government wants
to expand, wants to become sufficient-
ly powerful to be able to thumb its
nose at Earth and the Federation. As
you know, the Survey Service has al-

ways neglected the Rim. Rim Runners
put their own survey ships into opera-
tion. They did a sweep to the Galactic
West — and found the anti-matter
stars and planets. There was no room
for expansion there. They ran to the
East and found nothing but normal
matter and quite a few suns with in-
habited worlds. There’s Mellise,
which is practically all water and in-
habited by a race of intelligent am-
phibians. There’s Tharn, whose peo-
ple have yet to achieve an industrial
civilization but who are as near hu-
man as makes no difference. There’s
Grollor, where the natives could be
classed as humanoid and have the
beginnings of space travel. There’s
Stree, with its philosophical liz-
ards . . .”

"I can see,” said Calver, "that I’ll
have to do some heavy swotting up
on the Pilot Books.”

MacLean laughed. "There aren’t
any Pilot Books, Calver. Not yet.
When there are, it’ll be we who’ve
written them. Anyhow, we’re loading
zinc and tin and cadmium tomorrow
for Port Faraway on Faraway. We
load on Faraway for the Eastern Cir-
cuit. How does that suit you?”

"The Eastern Circuit? The new
worlds?”

"Ay.”

"Sounds interesting. But tell me —
why all the secrecy?”

"Because our Government wants to
form its own Federation, out here on
the Rim, wants to have the whole
thing sewn up tight by pacts and
treaties and trade agreements before
any Survey Service ship comes nosing

ASTOUNDING SCIENCE FICTION

out this way. All known Federation
agents have been rounded up and are
being kept in protective custody.
Pickering, your predecessor, was an
ex-Lieutenant Commander out of the
Survey Service and he had the odd
idea that he still owed them some
loyalty, in spite of the court-martial

that was the cause of his leav-

* »»

in g.

"And are you loyal to the Rim?”
asked Calver. "I know that there’s
no likelihood that the Kingdom of
Waverley will ever cast covetous eyes
on this sector of the galaxy, but sup-
pose they did?"

"I'm a Rim Worlder,” said Mac-
Lean at last. "I wasn’t born out here,
but the Rim has always had its ap-
peal for me. It’s a last frontier, I sup-
pose, and it will be until some clever
bugger comes up with an intergalactic
drive. And out here one can be a
spaceman, a real spaceman, without
being all the time tangled up in red
tape. And now there are the new
worlds, and there’ll be more of
them.” He looked around. "The
place is filling up," he said. "No
more shop talk.”

The place was filling up. There
were roughly dressed men from the
mines, a few overly neat men from
offices. There were women — some of
them drably and dowdily respectable,
others whose too red lips and overly
made up faces were like a uniform.
There was a slim girl who began to
wring a plaintive melody from a
piano accordion. She flashed a smile
at the two spacemen as she played.

TO RUN THE RIM

MacLean sang softly in time with
the music.

"Exiled from home
By woman’s whim,

We’ll ever roam
And run the Rim . .

"This,” said a female voice, huski-
ly attractive, "is where he usually
starts to cry into his whisky.”

“That’s a lie, Arlen,” said Mac-
Lean, "and you know it.”

Calver turned in his chair. He saw
the purser, whom he had already met,
and, beside him, a tall woman with
the silver bars of a Catering Officer
on her epaulettes. She was a little too
slim, and her features were too
strong for conventional prettiness
and bore the ineradicable marks of
past strain. There was a startling sil-
ver streak in her burnished, dark
hair.

"You’ll be Calver,” she said. "The
new second.”

"I am,” said Calver.

"I’m Arlen. Chief cook and bottle
washer.”

She extended a slim hand. Calver
took it. Her eyes, he noticed, were a
blue so deep as to be almost black.
Her smile was a little crooked, which
made it all the more attractive.

Pender, the little Purser, bustled up
with two extra chairs, set them in
place noisily. The sullen waitress
brought more glasses.

Arlen sat down gracefully.

"Try to imagine you’re back in the
Royal Mail, MacLean,” she said. "Be
a gentleman and pour me a drink.”

MacLean poured drinks.

"We’re all lushes on the Rim, Cal-

ver,” said Arlen. She had, decided
Calver, already taken more than a
few on board. "We’re all lushes, even
though we’ve learned the hard way
that drinking solves nothing. But we
don’t like happy drunks. The last sec-
ond mate but one, Wallis, he was a
happy drunk. He was so happy that
he could never be trusted with the
loading. It was all one to him if the
center of gravity was up in the con-
trol room or somewhere under the
main venturi. MacLean’s not like
that. MacLean will cry into his whis-
ky, and pour a little of it over that
absurd Royal Mail cap badge that he
insists on wearing, and will stagger
back on board tonight full of the
woes of all the universe as well a!s his
own — and God help the stevedore if
he stows one slab of zinc one mil-
limeter out of place tomorrow!”

"Stow it, Arlen,” said MacLean.

"Are you a happy drunk, Calver?”
she asked.

"No,” he said.

"Then you’re one of us. You’ll
make a real Rim Runner, skimming
the edge of eternity in a superannu-
ated rustbucket held together with
old string and chewing gum and tak-
ing a masochistic pleasure in it. You
have run from yourself until you can’t
run any further, and there’s a sort of
desperate joy in that, too. You don’t
drink to forget. You don’t drink to
get into a state of maudlin, mindless
happiness. You drink to intensify
your feelings, you — ”

"Stop it, Arlen!” snapped Mac-
Lean.

She got to her feet.

"If that’s the way you feel,” she
said, "I’d better leave.”

"Can’t a man have a drink in peace
without all this amateur psychiatry?”
asked the mate. "I drink because I
like drinking. Period.”

"Good night,” she said coldly.

"I’ll see you back, Arlen,” said
Calver.

"No thanks,” she said. "I’m a big
girl now. I’m not afraid of the dark.
Would I be with Rim Runners if I
were?”

Calver saw that the girl with the
accordion was drifting towards their
table, that Pender was already ex-
changing glances with one of the
bold eyed prostitutes. He knew how
the evening was going to develop,
and he wanted no part of it. He stood
up, put his hand under Arlen’s elbow
and began to steer her towards the
door.

"Good night, MacLean,” he said.
"Good night, Pender."

"What’s die hurry, Calver?” asked
the mate. "The night’s a pup.”

"I’m rather tired,” said Calver.

"See you in the morning, then.”

The musician and the other woman
took the vacated seats as Calver and
Arlen reached the door. The waitress
was bringing another bottle of
whisky.'

It was cold outside, and the gusty
wind filled their eyes with dust. It
was not the sort of night that one
finds pleasure in stargazing, yet Cal-
ver looked to the sky. The gleaming
lens of the galaxy was almost set,
only one last glimmering parabola of

ASTOUNDING SCIENCE FICTION

cold fire visible low in the west.
Overhead the sky was dark, the black-
ness intensified by the sparse and dim
nebulosities that were the, as yet, un-
reachable island universes.

Galver shivered.

"It’s frightening, isn’t it?” said
Arlen. "It’s frightening. Yet it has
something.”

"Something?” he asked. "Or —
nothing ?”

"There are easier and faster ways
of finding nothing,” she said.

"Why didn’t you take one?’’ he
asked brutally.

"Why didn’t you? I'll tell you. Be-
cause you’re like the rest of us. I
don’t know your history, any more
than you know mine, but something
happened to smash the career that
you were carving out for yourself in
the Commission’s service — something
that was your fault and nobody else’s.

You hit rock bottom, but you refused
to admit it. You found that there
were depths below rock bottom, even.
You decided that the only salvation
lay in a real voyage, as well as a
symbolic one, to the very edge of the
night — ”

"And does this theory of yours ap-
ply to all the Rim Runners?”

"To most of us. Not to the Old
Man — he was born out here, on
Thule. The only thing that he’s tun-
ning away from is the Grim Reaper;
he’s two hundred years old if he’s a
day. Pender’s a Rim Worlder, too.
So’s Levine, our psionic radio opera-
tor.

"But there’s Bendix, the Interstel-
lar Drive Engineer — he’s out of the
Trans -Galactic Clippers. There’s Re-
nault, in charge of the Reaction
Drive — he was Chief of a Beta Class
liner."

TO RUN THE RIM

''I’ve heard of him,” said Calver.
''I’ve never sailed with him.”

"Brentano, Radio Communica-
tions, used to be in a quite respectable
little outfit called Cluster Lines. Old
Doc Malone had a flourishing prac-
tice in Port Austral, in the Centurian
System. MacLean, as you know, was
in the Waverley Royal Mail.”

"And you?”

"Another refugee from the Com-
mission,” she said. "But I was ashore,
on Earth, for a few years before I
came out here.”

The spaceport gate was ahead of
them. The guard on duty looked at
them, at their uniforms.

He said, "Good evening, Mrs. Ar-
len. Back early tonight.”

"Somebody has to be up in the
morning to cook breakfast for these
spacehounds,” she said.

"And this gentleman?”

"Our new second mate.”

The guard pressed the button that
opened the gate. Arlen and Calver
passed through. Ahead of them was
the ship, black against the dark sky,
only a dim yellow glow of light shin-
ing from the air lock.

"The Lorn Lady,” said Arlen.
"The poor old Lorn Lady. When I
hear people talking about her I al-
ways wonder if they’re referring to
the ship, or to me. Do you know what
they used to call me? Calamity Jane
Lawler. That was before I was mar-
ried. It’s Calamity Jane Arlen now.”
They walked up the ramp to the air
lock, Calver steadying the girl with
his arm. They got past the watchman
— an ex-spaceman by the looks of

him, and a heavy drinker — without
waking him. They climbed the spiral
staircase to the officers’ flat.

They went first into the little pan-
try adjoining the messroom. Arlen
switched on the percolator. In a mat-
ter of seconds it began to chuckle
softly to itself. The woman drew two
mugs of the bitter, black brew.
"Sugar, Calver? Cream?”

"Just sugar, thanks.”

"I don’t know why I drink this
muck,” she said. "It’ll sober me up,
and I don’t want to be sober. When
I’ve had a few drinks I can accept the
coldness, the loneliness, and make
them part of me. When I’m sober
they . . . they frighten me.”

"Lawler . . .” said Calver slowly.
"Calamity Jane Lawler. The name
rings a bell. Weren’t you in Alpha
Scorpii at one time?”

"Yes,” she said flatly. "I was. It
was when we had the outbreak of
food poisoning, and it was when
some fool pointed out that something
always happened aboard any ship that
I was in. Hence the name. It stuck.
The worst of it is that I do seem to
be an accident prone sort of person,
even ashore. When I left the Com-
mision’s service, when I married, the
calamities still kept on coming. So — ■”
"What happened?" asked Calver.
"What happened to you?” she
countered. "We don’t know each
other well enough yet to start swap-
ping life stories. I doubt if we ever
shall.”

Calver finished his coffee.

"Good night, Arlen,” he said.
"Good night,” she replied dully.

ASTOUNDING SCIENCE FICTION

Feeling both helpless and useless
Calver left her there in the little pan-
try, went to his cabin and turned
in.

He was surprised at the speed
with which he was able to adjust
himself to the rather slovenly routine
of Lorn Lady. She was pitifully short-
handed by the standards to which he
was accustomed; there was no third
officer, there were no junior engineers
for either the Interstellar or the In-
terplanetary Drives, the surgeon was
also the biochemist and, as such, in
charge of hydroponics, tissue culture
and the algae vats. There were no
cadets to do all the odd jobs that
were beneath the dignity of the offi-
cers — such jobs were done if they
were essential, otherwise they remain-
ed undone.

Safety first, MacLean had said.
Efficiency second. Spit and polish
this year, next year, some time, never.
Yet the gleaming, ever-precessing
gyroscopes of the Mannschenn Drive
Unit sang softly and smoothly, with
never a stammer, and the pumps that
drove the fluid propellant into the
furnace of the Pile functioned with
an efficiency that could have been the
envy of many a better found vessel.
Old Doc Malone was an efficient
"farmer," and there was never any
.shortage of green salads or fresh meat
in the mess; the algae served only as
air and water purifiers, never as an
article of diet.

Yet she was old, the Lorn Lady.
Machinery can be renewed piece by
piece, but there comes a time when

the shell plating of the hull holding
that same machinery is almost porous,
when every structural member suffers
from the fatigue that comes to all
metal with the passage of the years.

She was old, and she was tired,
and the age of her and the fatigue of
her were mirrored in the frail body
of Captain Engels, her master. He
was the oldest man that Calver had
ever met, even in Space where ex-
treme longevity, barring accidents, is
the rule rather than the exception. A
few sparse strands of yellowish white
hair straggled over the thin parch-
ment covering his skull. His uniform
was too big for the fragile, withered
body it covered. Only his eyes, pale
blue and bleak, were alive.

He worried the officers very little,
keeping to his own accommodation
most of the time. Yet any minor
malfunctioning, any deviation from
normal routine, no matter how trivial,
would bring him at once to the con-
trol room. He would say nothing, yet
his very presence would induce in the
officer of the watch a sense of gross
inadequacy and, with it, the resolve
not to let the thing, whatever it was,
occur again.

There was very little camaraderie
aboard the ship whilst she was in
Space; watch and watch routine gives
small opportunity for social inter-
course. But, decided Calver, there
would not have been much social life
even if the ship had been adequately
manned. She carried too heavy a
cargo of regrets. With MacLean he
might have succeeded in striking up
a real friendship, but the only times

TO EUN THE RIM

they met were at the changes of
watches. He would have liked to have
gotten to know Jane Arlen better —
but she kept him, as she kept all
others aboard the ship, at arm’s
length.

The voyage to Faraway passed, as
all voyages pass. There were no emer-
gencies. The landing at Port Faraway
was slow and painful, old Captain
Engels refusing to trust the auto-pilot
and treating the ship as an extension,
of his own aged and brittle body.
Discharge and loading progressed
according to plan.

Calver was able to spend two eve-
nings ashore, in Faraway City, during
the time that Lorn Lady was in port.
On the first of these he was by him-
self. He had a meal — which was
vastly inferior to anything served by
Arlen aboard the ship — and then a
few drinks. He went to a solido"show
and realized, one quarter of the way
through, that he had already seen it,
years before and in much happier cir-
cumstances. He left the theater and
returned to the ship. Old Doc Ma-
lone was still awake and let Calver
have a bottle of the so-called Irish
whisky that he distilled in his spare
time.

The second evening Arlen was
with him. She had met him in the
alleyway outside the officers’ cabins as
he was on his way to the axial shaft.

"Wait for me, Calver,’’ she said.
"I’ll come with you.’’

"I didn’t think you bothered the
beach much, Arlen,” he said.

"I don’t as a rule. But every now

and again I have to get off this ship
before I go mad.”

”1 feel the same,” he said.

"You’ve been here only a dog-
watch,” she said scornfully.

They took the monorail from the
port to Faraway City. They tried to
lose themselves in the feverish, ar-
tificial gaiety that is common to all
the Rim World settlements, but it
was hopeless. They finished up at last
in a quiet drinking place, one of the
very few with subdued lighting and
no noisy music.

"How do you like the Lorn Lady ?"
asked Arlen abruptly.

"She feeds well.”

"I know that, too. Perhaps I
should ask, ’How do you like the
Rim?’ ”

"I don’t,” he said. "Even though
I’m no telepath I can feel the mass
fear, the dread of the cold and the
dark.”

"Why don’t you go back to where
you came from?”

"You should know the answer to
that one, Arlen. I was Chief Officer
in the Commission’s ships, and by
leaving them I insulted them. That’s
the way they always look at it. I can
never get back into big ships.”

"There are plenty of smaller lines
far superior to Rim Runners.”

"I know. And they run to ports
also served by the Commission. I
should always have the reminder of
what could have been, if . . . I’d al-
ways be seeing some big Alpha or
Beta Class liner and thinking, I could
have been master of her by now,
if—”

ASTOUNDING SCIENCE FICTION

"'If ■what?” she asked bluntly.

He said, "I like you, Arlen, but
I’m not going to do a psychological
strip-tease just to keep you amused.”

She said, ”1 like you. As you know
very well, it’s customary for the aver-
age spacewoman to have her steady
from among the ship’s officers. I’ve
never been like that. MacLean tried
hard when I first joined Lorn Lady,
but never got any place. Pender tried
— he took the attitude that the cater-
ing officer was one of the purser’s
perquisites. The engineers and the
radio men have made an odd pass
or two.”

"So?”

"I think that we should know a
little more about each other, about
each other’s backgrounds right from
the start.”

"There’s not much to tell,” he said.
"I was, as you know, in the Commis-
sion’s service. I was mate of one of
the big Beta Class jobs. I was mar-
ried, fairly happily, with a couple of
children. One voyage from Caribbea
to Port Austral I met the woman, the
only woman. Funnily enough, her
name was Jane, the same as yours.
There was the usual mess — resigna-
tion from the Commission’s service,
divorce and all the rest of it. Doro-
thy, my wife, remarried — happily, I
hope. Jane and I married. Her father
found me a shore job — a too well
paid sinecure, actually — in the firm
of which he was president. What
does a spaceman know about the
manufacture of personalized wrist ra-
dios? Anyhow, it all worked out not
too badly for a while until Jane be-

TO RUN THE RIM

gan to realize that a spaceman aboard
his ship and the same spaceman
holding down an office chair are two
different animals. The glamour began
to fade. It went out like a snuffed
candle the night that she went alone
to a party to which I had not been
invited, returning unexpectedly to
find me entertaining a girl I had
picked up in a bar. Cutting a long
story short, I didn’t bother to pack.
I just got out. Since then I’ve been
drifting out towards the Rim. I’ve
got here now.

"And you?”

She said, "Not a very pretty story.”

"Fair exchange,” he insisted.

"If you wish it. In my case it’s
just that I’ve always been Calamity
Jane. I left the Commission to get
married. My marriage was very
happy. A drunken surface car driver
smashed it. Don was killed. I wasn’t
That’s all.”

He said, knowing that. the words
were inadequate, "I’m sorry.”

She said, "I like you, Calver. I
think that I like you rather too much
to see anything happen to you. I’m
afraid that if we do start something
the old Calamity Jane business will
begin again.”

"What have I got to lose?” he
asked. Then — "That was rather
selfish, wasn’t it?”

"It was,” she said.

It was on Tham that they lost
MacLean.

The people of Tharn are human,
except for very minor differences.
There is a yellowish tinge to their

complexions and the coloration of
their hair is usually either blue or
green. Their women are, however,
obviously mammalian.

It was on Tharn that Lorn Lady
discharged her parcel of such tools
and instruments as would be of value
to a people with only the beginnings
of an industrial technology. There
was a large consignment of magnetic
compasses, which would fetch good
prices among the fishermen and mer-
chant mariners. There were needles
and scissors, and there were ham-
mers, planes, chisels and saws. There
were scientific textbooks for the Tem-
ple University.

It was on Tharn that Lorn Lady
discharged these goods, and on Tharn
that she lay idle until the commence-
ment of loading the following morn-
ing. After the evening meal Calver
and Jane Arlen went ashore together.
The mate and the purser were al-
ready ashore — they did not ever, as
Bendix, the interstellar drive engi-
neer rather bitterly remarked — waste
any time. Bendix, aided by Renault
and Brentano, had to stay on
board to overhaul the Mannschenn
Drive unit. Old Doc Malone was
playing chess with Captain Engels
and Levine, the psionic radio officer,
was in his cabin with his dog’s brain
amplifier, trying to find out if there
were any practicing telepaths on the
planet.

Calver and Arlen walked slowly
from the primitive spaceport to the
town. The way lay over rough heath-
land, but it was pleasant walking
after the weeks of free fall. The wes-

tering sun, bloated and bloody, was
behind them, and in the huddle of
buildings ahead of them the soft yel-
low lights, primitive affairs of burn-
ing natural gas, were already spring-
ing into being. Blue smoke from the
chimneys of the town hung in layers
in the still air. There was the smell
of frost.

"Things,” said Arlen, "are a lot
better now. I used to dread going
ashore just as much as I dreaded stay-
ing aboard. Now, I’m beginning to
enjoy it.”

"I’m glad,” said Calver. "But
where do we spend our money, Jane?
And on what?”

"Just a quiet evening in one of the
inns,” she said. "The liquor here
is not bad; as you know, we’re load-
ing a fair consignment of it tomor-
row. There’s usually a musician or a
conjurer or juggler to amuse the
customers. There’ll be a blazing fire,
as like as not.”

They were in the town now. They
walked slowly along the rutted street,
between the stone houses with their
high, thatched roofs. Shops were still
doing business, their open windows
illumined by flaring gas jets. It could
almost, thought Calver, have passed
for a street scene in the Middle Ages
back on Earth. Almost — But gas
lighting was unknown in those days,
and the women did not wear dresses
that exposed most of their legs, and
any animals abroad would have been
dogs and cats, not things like elon-
gated, segmented tortoises. Even so,
there must have been very similar dis-
plays of rather ambiguous looking

ASTOUNDING- SCIENCE FICTION

meat, of fish, of fruit, of rich cloth
and of cloth far from rich, of jewelry
both clumsy and exquisite.

They stopped at a shop and Calver,
with Arlen translating, bought for
the girl a bracelet of beaten silver,
exchanging for it what seemed to
him to be an absurdly small number
of the square copper coins. The robed
shopkeeper bowed low as they left
his premises.

"He,” said Arlen, "is one of those
who like us.’’ She lifted her slim
arm so that the bracelet caught thfe
light. "He gave you quite a good
discount on this." .

"You said that he was one of the
ones who like us. I'd have thought
that everybody would have liked
us.”

"The shopkeepers are pleased to
see us here — of course. So are the
fishermen and sailors, to whom our
compasses are a godsend. The arti-
sans, who buy our fine new tools,
welcome us. The priests at the Univ-
ersity look on us as a source of new
knowledge that will not run dry for
centuries."

"Who else is there?”

"The peasants, who have the typi-
cal peasant mentality. The land-own-
ing noblemen who sense, and not al-
together dimly, that we are ushering
in the forces of evolution and revolu-
tion that will destroy them.”

"Aren’t we taking rather a risk,
coming ashore .like this?”

She laughed. "This is a Univer-
sity town. The priesthood maintains
a very efficient police force. If any-
body harmed any one of us, the

TO RUN THE RIM

High Priest would see to it that he
died very slowly. Old Commodore
Grimes, to give him his due, made a
really good job of getting things set
up in our favor.”

They paused outside the door of an
inn, looked up at the sign that hung
there, illuminated by a gas jet. Arlen
chuckled. "This is new; it wasn’t here
the last time we were on Tharn. It
used to be some sort of dragon, done
in red. Now it’s a spaceship."

"The innkeeper,” said Calver, is
obviously one of those who like us.
He might even shout us a free drink
or two. Shall we. go in?"

They went in.

The place was warm and the air
was blue with smoke. Calver thought
at first that it came from pipes and
cigarettes, then saw that it was eddy-
ing from the big open fireplace. Even
so, there was the aroma of tobacco.
Puzzled, Calver looked around, saw
MacLean and Pender sitting at a table
in the corner. A giggling girl, who
was trying to smoke a cigarette, was
on Pender’s lap. MacLean was, as
usual, singing softly.

"Exiled from home
By woman’s whim,

We’ll ever roam
And run the Rim . . .”

Another girl stood before him, -do-
ing her . best to pick out the notes on
a stringed instrument like a small
harp.

Arlen frowned. She said, "I sup-
pose it’s all right, but those two are
liable to get themselves into serious
trouble one day.”

"Nobody here seems to be worry-
ing,” said Calver.

Most of the men in the place were,
obviously, seamen and fishermen —
knee boots or thigh boots combined
with clothing of d^rk blue seem to
be almost standard wear throughout
the galaxy for men who follow the
sea. Most of them had girls of their
own, and those who did not were not
the kind to allow women to interfere
with serious drinking. Almost all of
them raised their mugs to the space-
man and spacewoman in salutation.
Room was made for them at one of
the larger tables and tankards of the
dark, sweet brew were pressed upon
them.

Calver felt a little out of things as
Arlen entered into a spirited conver-
sation with the tough, grizzled sea-
man seated on her left. She conde-
scended now and again to translate
some of his sallies.

"He’s master of a merchantman,”
she said, "and he says that he’ll sign
me on as his cook any time I want
a change.”

"I’d starve without you, Jane,”
said Calver.

He let his attention wander from
the incomprehensible conversation.
He looked to the corner where Mac-
Lean and Pender were sitting, saw
that they were getting along very
well indeed with the two native
girls.

The door opened with a crash.

A young man strode arrogantly
into the hall, followed by half a doz-
en others who were, obviously, his
servants or retainers. He wore emer-

aid trunks, scarlet boots and a scarlet
jacket. A great scarlet plume nodded
above his wide-brimmed black hat.
All of his clothing was lavishly orna-
mented with gold embroidery. A
long sword swung at his left side. He
was, obviously, neither seaman, fish-
erman nor artisan. He could not,
thought Calver, possibly be one of
the priestly scholars from the Univer-
sity. He must be one of the land-own-
ing nobility of whom Arlen had
spoken.

He glared around him, obviously
looking for somebody. He saw the
two spacemen with their girls in the
far corner. His mouth tightened and
his black eyes gleamed dangerously.

"Sayonee!" he called. Then, again,
"Sayonee!”

The woman on MacLean’s lap
looked up and around. Her lip curl-
ed. She spat like an angry cat.

"Oh, oh!” whispered Arlen. "I
don’t like this. She told him to go
and get lost.”

The young man, his followers close
behind him, pushed to the corner of
the room, careless of the overset bot-
tles and tankards in his wake. He
stood there, glaring down at Mac-
Lean and Pender. The mate returned
his glare, his face flushed under the
carroty hair. The girl, Sayonee, look-
ed frightened, whispered something
to MacLean, tried to wriggle off his
lap. MacLean said, in English, "I’m
not giving you up to any planet lub-
ber.”

Pender said, "Mac . . . Hadn’t you
better ... ?”

"Shut up!” snapped MacLean.
ASTOUNDING SCIENCE FICTION

"MacLean !” called Calver, "don’t
be a fool!”

"Stay out of this, Calver,” shouted
the mate. "And if you’re scared, get
out, and take that frosty-faced Arlen
with you!”

The aristocrat said something. It
must have been insulting. MacLean,
obviously, knew what it meant — the
spacefarer usually learns the curses of
any strange language long before he
is capable of carrying out a polite
conversation. The blood drained from
his face, leaving it a deathly white.
He got to his feet, unceremoniously
dumping Sayonee. Her little harp
jangled discordantly as she fell. He
picked up his mug from the table, let
the Tharnian have the contents full in
the face. He took a step forward, his
lists clenched and ready.

Drunk as he was, he would have
used them well — if he had been al-
lowed to.

The Tharnian’s sword whipped
out from its scabbard and ran him
through before he could make an-
other gesture either of offense or
defense.

There were shouts and screams,
there was the crash of overturned
furniture and shattered glassware.
From somewhere above there was the
furious, incessant jangling of a bell.
Calver was on his feet, about to go
to MacLean’s help — although he
knew that he was beyond help —
when he remembered Jane Arlen. He
realized that she was standing beside
him.

"Get out of this!” he snapped.

TO RUN THE RIM

"No.”

"Then keep behind me!”

The aristocrat was pushing towards
the door, his men on either side of
him and behind him. He held his
sword still, and the blood on it
gleamed scarlet in the flaring gas
light. His bullies had drawn long
knives. One of them staggered as a
flung bottle struck him on the temple.
Another bottle shattered in midair as
the long sword leapt up to deflect
it.

He saw Calver and Arlen. A thin,
vicious grin split his face. At Aden’s
side the old merchant captain growl-
ed something incomprehensible. Cal-
ver saw that he, too, had drawn a
knife. For a moment he feared attack
from this quarter, then realized that
this was an ally, that most of the sea-
men and fishermen in the inn were
allies.

But they were not trained fighters
— not trained fighters of men, that is.
With wind and weather, with strain-
ing, refractory gear and with the
monsters of the deep they could cope,
but all their fights with their own
kind had been limited to the occa-
sional tavern brawl. This was more
than a mere tavern brawl. This was
a one-sided battle against soldiers, ex-
perienced killers, intelligently led.

The swordsman was close now.
The sea captain shouted and jumped
forward to meet him. He fell into a
crouch, holding his knife for the
deadly, upward thrust. The blade of
the sword flickered harmlessly over
his left shoulder. Had he been fight-
ing one man only he might well have

succeeded-but one of the retainers
on him. driving his blade deep

into the old man s back

Calver picked up a chair, held t
before h.m as a shield. He jabbed
the three legs of it at the aristocrat s
face, felt a savage satisfaction as flesh
and cartilage gave beneath the blow.

He swung his makeshift weapon
down and around, felled the man
who had stabbed the old captain in
the back. He brought it up again just
in time to intercept and deflect the
vicious sword.

He heard Arlen scream.

He dare not look around, but from
the corner of his eye he saw that two
of the retainers had seized her, were
dragging her towards the door. Hos-
tage or victim— he had no time to
reason it out. He was fighting for
his life, and he knew it. He was fight-
ing with a clumsy weapon held in

unskilled hands against a finely bal-:
anced instrument of murder wielded;
by the hands of a master. His body
he could protect, but his legs were
already bleeding from a score of
wounds, some of them deep. (

He fell back, saw the smile that ap-l
peared on the blood-smeared face of ;
his enemy, the twisted smile under'
the broken nose. He fell back as
though in terror. He hoped that the
Tharnian would be in no hurry to
follow, that he would decide to play
a cat and mouse game, to finish him
almost at leisure.

He thought, I’m no swordsman,
but I know something of ballistics.

With all his strength he threw the
chair, followed it before it could
reach its target. He saw the Tharnian,
foolishly, bring up his sword to
parry the heavy missile, saw the point
of it penetrate the thick wooden seat.

AST.OUNDING SCIENCE FICTION

Then the other man was down and
Calver was on top of him, his hands
seeking the other’s throat. Somebody
was pulling at his shoulders, trying
to drag him off his enemy. He tensed
himself for the blade between his
shoulders, but it never came. Muscu-
lar hands closed over his own, pull-
ing them away from the Tharnian’s
bruised neck. He was jerked to his
feet. He glared at the men who sur-
rounded him — the hard, competent
looking men who wore a uniform
of short, black tunics over yellow
trunks, who carried polished wooden
clubs. He saw the nobleman’s bullies
being efficiently bound by other uni-
formed men.

He saw — and he found it hard to
forgive himself for having forgotten
her — Arlen. She was pale, and her
uniform was torn, but she seemed un-
harmed.

"The party’s over," she said, with
an attempt at flippancy. "These are
the University police. They will es-
cort us back to the ship.”

"And MacLean?” he asked.

"Dead," she replied flatly. "Pen-
der’s all right. He kept under the
table.”

"And what will happen to . . .
him?” asked Calver, nodding to-
wards the swordsman who, like his
followers, was being expertly trussed.

"I don’t know. I don’t want to
know. His father, who’s the local
baron or whatever, might be able to
buy him back from the High Priest
before justice has run its full course.
I doubt it.”

"I feel rather sorry for him," said

Calver slowly. "After all, MacLean
did steal his girl."

"And he,” she flared, "did his best
to steal yours!”

"I forgot,” he muttered.

"You’d better not make a habit of
it,” she said coldly.

Lorn Lady lifted from Tharn the
following evening, having taken
aboard her cargo of casks of the local
liquor, gold, and the baled pelts of
the great, richly furred mountain
bears. Before her departure the High
Priest himself came down to the
spaceport to make a formal apology
to Captain Engels for the events of
the previous evening. He spoke in
English.

He said, "There are those on
Tharn who hate and fear you, cap-
tain, who hate and fear the knowl-
edge that will set all men free.”

"I am afraid, Your Wisdom,” said
the captain, "that my own officer was
in part to blame for what happened.”
"The girl was not Lanoga’s prop-
erty,” said the priest. "Lanoga’s ac-
tions were aimed as much against the
University as against your people.”
"And Lanoga?” asked Calver who,
as chief officer, was present.

"If you delay your departure," said
the High Priest, "you will be able to
witness his execution tomorrow.”
"We have to maintain our sched-
ule,” said Captain Engels.

When the priest and his attendants
had gone, Calver asked, "Isn’t he
rather sticking his neck out, sir? He
has his police, but surely the barons
can muster enough men to wipe out

TO RUN THE RIM

the town and crush the University.
He’s no fool. Surely he must realize
that.”

"He's no fool, Mr. Calver,” said
the Old Man. "Furthermore, he
wants the barons to inarch on the
town." He hesitated. "You’re the
mate, now. There are one or two
things you have to learn. One of
them is that many of the crates and
cases on the manifest as containing
carpenters’ tools contain ironmongery
of a somewhat different kind. Our
friend the High Priest is sitting pretty
on top of a well stocked arsenal of
machine guns and automatic pistols.”

"But Federation law . . .”

"If the Federation concerned itself
with the well-being of the Rim we
would respect its laws. Secure for
Space, Mr. Calver.”

"Secure for Space, sir,’’ repeated
Calver.

So Lorn Lady lifted from Tharn
with Calver as her chief officer and
with Brentand, the Electronic Radio
Officer, as a not too inefficient acting
second mate. Once clear of the planet
she set her course for the star around
which revolved Grollor, but the
Mannschenn Drive was not activated,
as usually was the case, once accelera-
tion had ceased. Any change in the
mass of the ship when the Drive is in
operation can have catastrophic con-
sequences.

Carefully, reverently almost, Mac-
Lean’s shrouded body was carried to
the air lock, was placed inside the
little compartment. Smoothly, silently
the inner door shut. There was a brief
sobbing of pumps as the air lock

pressure built up to four ship atmos-
pheres. Outside the air lock stood the
captain and his officers, the magnetic
soles of their shoes holding them to
the deck. Engels, in his dry, cracked
old voice, read from the little book
' in his hand.

Calver listened to the solemn
words, to the ages-old ritual. He
wanted hard to believe that this was
not for MacLean the end, the ulti-
mate nothingness, but he found him-
self incapable of doing so. This was
not the first funeral in deep space in
his experience — but the others had
been in towards the Center, with the
bright stars above and below and to
all sides, where it was not hard to
regard those same stars as the verita-
ble Hosts of Heaven. Here, on the
Rim, the final negation was too close
to the living; it must be closer still
to the dead.

"We therefore commit his body td
the deep ..." read the captain.

Calver pulled the lever. The light
over the air lock door changed from
green to red. The structure of the
ship shook ever so slightly. MacLean
— or what was left of MacLean — was
now outside. Would he, wondered
Calver, plunge into some blazing sun
years or centuries or millennia from
now? Or would his frozen body cir-
cle the Rim forever? The maudlin
words of the song of which the dead
Mate had been so fond sprang into
his mind.

We'll ever roam

And run the Rim . . .

Calver pulled the second lever.
Again the pumps sobbed. The light

ASTOUNDING SCIENCE FICTION

changed from red to green. The nee-
dle of the gauge steadied on One
Atmosphere. He opened the air lock
door, looked inside, making sure. He
shut the door.

"Mr. Calver,” said Captain Engels,
"secure for Interstellar Drive.” He
made his slow way to the axial shaft.
Calver began to follow.

Jane Arlen caught his sleeve.

"Derek,” she said, "I'm frighten-
ed. I thought when I came out to the
Rim I’d shaken off the jinx that’s al-
ways followed me . . .”

"It had nothing to do with you,”
said Calver. "It had nothing to do
with poor MacLean, even. It was pol-
itics — politics on a world that none
of us had ever heard of a few years
ago.”

She said, "But I’m still fright-
ened.”

There were no incidents on Grol-
lor. Everybody on that planet, a
world that had made almost a reli-
gion of technology, was glad to see
Lorn Lady. There were no tempta-
tions on Grollor. The Grollans re-
garded alcohol as a good cleaning
fluid and antiseptic, nothing more.
Although they were humanoid they
were so grotesque that their women
could make no appeal even to Pender,
even if he had by this time — which
was doubtful — recovered from the
fright he had suffered on Tharn.

There were no incidents on Stree.
The great, lazy lizards stirred from
their somnolence to make their slow,
lazy way to the ship where they
deigned to accept the cargo that Lorn

TO RUN THE RIM

Lady had brought them. There was
reel upon reel of microfilm — books
on philosophy in the main, but a sur-
prisingly large number of contempo-
rary novels. In exchange they offered
great jewels, intricately cut, and rolls
of parchment covered with their
spidery calligraphy.

"These,” said Engels to Calver,
"might well hold the ultimate secrets
of the Universe.”

It was on Mellise, on the home-
ward leg of the voyage, that disaster
struck again.

Mellise is a watery world, fully
four fifths of its surface being cover-
ed by the shallow seas. Mellise, with
its absence of land masses and, con-
sequently, of the conditions produc-
ing steep barometric gradients,
should not be a stormy world. Nor-
mally it is not. Normally the only
winds known are the steady, predict-
able Trades and Anti-Trades. But
there is a long, straggling archipelago
of low islands almost coincident with
the Equator, and at the changes of
Equinox conditions obtain, although
briefly, favorable to the generation of
hurricanes.

Mellise is a watery world and, in
the main, a pleasant one.

Calver walked slowly along the
white beach, the sun pleasantly hot
on his skin, the sand crunching satis-
fyingly between his toes. Arlen walk-
ed beside him, her hand in his.
Neither of them said anything. There
was no need to.

Calver glanced inland, looked to
the blunt, gleaming spire that was the
stem of Lorn Lady just visible above

the feathery, purple foliage of the
trees. He was glad that a breakdown
of the pumps had caused the delay in
departure. There had been little lei-
sure during the discharge — nets and
cordage and harpoon guns — and little
during the loading, although the
great pearls that were their home-
ward cargo had offered few problems
in stowage.

"Somebody coming our way," mur-
mured Arlen, raising one long, slim
arm and pointing.

Calver looked, and saw the small
dark blob that broke the calm surface
of the sea.

They walked to the water’s edge.

The Mellisan waddled through the
shallows, his sleek hide gleaming
in the sunlight. The necklace of
gaudy shells around his long, sinu-
ous neck proclaimed him a person of
some consequence. Calver thought
that he was the Chief who had super-
vised the discharge and loading from
the shore end, but could not be
sure.

"Meelongee,” he said, his voice al-
most like that of a Siamese cat.

"Meelongee,” replied Arlen.

The word meant, Calver knew,
"greetings.” It was about the only
word of which he did know the
meaning.

The native shifted from one web-
bed foot to the other. He gesticulated
with his stubby arms. It was impossi-
ble for Calver to tell what the ex-
pression on the long-muzzled face
signified, but he guessed that it was
grave concern. There seemed to be
anxiety in the yelping voice.

Concern showed on Aden's face.

"Calver," she asked, "when shall
we be ready for Space?”

"Another twenty-four hours,” he
said.

"That will be too late. Our friend
here tells me that there will be a big
blow before tomorrow morning. A
gale — or a hurricane.”

"Not a cloud in the sky," said Cal-
ver, looking upwards.

"There’s an old saying,” she re-
marked quietly, "about the calm be-
fore the storm. Hadn’t we better get
back and warn the Old Man?"

"Yes,” he agreed.

Arlen thanked the native who,
bowing clumsily, backed into the still
water, turned suddenly and then was
gone with hardly a splash. She walk-
ed with Calver along the rough path
from the beach to the clearing that
was dignified by the name of space-
port. Once she stopped, saying noth-
ing, and pointed. Calver looked si-
lently at the little furry mammals, not
unlike squirrels, that normally lived
in the trees. Whole colonies of them
had come down from their arboreal
homes, were industriously digging
burrows in the soil.

Arlen and Calver came into the
clearing, hurried to the ramp. They
ran up the spiral staircase from the
air lock to the control room. The
mate went directly to the aneroid. It
had, he remembered, read 1020 milli-
bars that morning. The 1010 millibar
noon reading he had ascribed to diur-
nal range. Since noon it had dropped
to 930 millibars. He tapped the face

ASTOUNDING SCIENCE FICTION

of the instrument with his forefinger.
It dropped still further. .

He went to the telephone, pressed
the selector button for the Reaction
Drive Engine Room. It was Bendix
who answered, "Yes? What do you
want?”

"How long will Renault be on
those pumps of his?”

"It’d be a ten-minute job if this
lousy outfit carried spares,” snapped
Bendix. "When we have to make
impellers by hand . .

"How long will you be?”

"This time tomorrow.”

"Not good enough.” To the girl
he said, "Arlen, wake the Old Man,
will you? Tell him it’s important.”
And into the telephone, "Can’t Re-
nault fake up some sort of jury rig
to get us into Space? We’ve been
warned that there’s the father and
mother of all storms brewing, and
our own observations confirm the
warning.”

Renault came to the other end of
the line. He said, "We’re doing our
best, Calver. You know that. The best
I can promise is tomorrow noon.
Now leave us alone, will you?”

Arlen came back into the control
room, followed by Captain Engels.

The Old Man, thought Calver,
looked an old man in fact as well as
in name. He had always looked old,
but until recently there had been a
sort of wiry indestructibility about
him. That was now gone.

He walked slowly, a little unsteadi-
ly, to the aneroid. He studied it for
a few moments.

He said, "I have heard about these

storms, Mr. Calver. I always hoped
that it would be my good luck never
to experience one. A surfaced space-
ship is, perhaps, the most helpless of
all Man’s creations.” He paused. "I
am older than you, Mr. Calver, much
older, but all my spacefaring experi-
ence has been on the Rim — and, until
recently, only with the Ultimo, Lorn,
Thule and Faraway run. Perhaps ...”

"I’m afraid that this situation is
outside my experience, sir,” said Cal-
ver.

"There’s something I read . .
said Arlen hesitantly.

“Yes, Mrs. Arlen?” said Engels.
"What was it?"

"It was in a historical novel. It was
about the early days of space flight,
the days of the first explorations of
Mars and Venus ...”

"Mars and Venus?”

"Two planets in Earth’s solar sys-
tem,” said Arlen. "Venus is a world
very much like this, but closer to its
primary. Fierce storms are of very
frequent occurrence. Anyhow, in this
novel the characters had to set up
stays — I think that’s the right word
— to prevent their ship from being
blown over.”

"There are the towing lugs for-
ward,” said Calver thoughtfully.
"There are the towing wires. We
have shackles and bottle screws.”

"And to what do you propose to
anchor your . . . stays?” asked the
captain.

"To the roots of the stoutest trees,”
replied Calver.

"It could work,” said the Old
Man.

TO RUN THE RIM

"It will have to work,’’ said Arlen.

"Shall I go ahead with it, sir?”
asked Calver.

Captain Engels tapped the aneroid
barometer. Its needle fell another few
millibars. He walked to the nearest
port and looked out at the sky. All
the brilliance had gone from the
westering sun, which now had a
smudgy appearance. Overhead the
long mares’ tails had appeared in
what had been a cloudless sky. Faint-
ly audible in the control room was a
distant, sighing rumble, rhythmic and
ominous. Engels asked, "What is that
noise?”

"The surf,” said Calver. "There
was a flat calm, but the swell's get-
ting up.”

"Rig your stays, Mr. Calver,” or- '
dered the captain.

By nightfall the job was done.
Calver, aided by Arlen, Levine, Pen-
der and old Doc Malone had broken
out the towing wires, the shackles
and the bottle screws from the spare
gear store. He had shackled the four
wires to the towing lugs just abaft
Lorn Lady’s stem. These wires had
been brought down to the boles of
convenient, stout trees and had been
again shackled to the powerful bottle
screws. They had been set up tight —
but not too tigflt. Calver was haunted
by visions of the frail old ship crum-
pling down upon herself if too much
weight were put on the stays.

Sunset had been a dismal, gray
end to the day, and with it had come
the wind, fitful at first, uncertain,
bringing with it occasional vicious

squalls of rain and hail. The swell
was heavy now, breaking high on the
beach. The water had- lost its usual
phosphorescence and every roaring
comber was black and ominous. The
sky was black, and the sea was black,
and the frequent, dazzling lightning
brought a deeper darkness after every
frightening flash.

Calver, his' last inspection made,
entered the ship and climbed wearily
up to Control. His light uniform was
sweat-soaked and every muscle was
aching and trembling. He reported to
Captain Engels, "All secure, sir.” He
sank gratefully into one of the accel-
eration chairs.

"Thank you, Mr. Calver.” The
Old Man tapped the aneroid. "Still
falling, still falling,” he murmured.

"How are the engineers getting
on?” asked Calver.

"They are still working. I fear that
there’s no hope of our getting off be-
fore the blow hits us.”

Arlen appeared with a tray upon
which there was a plate of sand-
wiches, a can of cold beer. She put it
on one arm of the chair, disposed
herself gracefully upon the other. She
had been working, Calver well knew,
as hard as any of the men, but had
still found the time to attend to their
needs.

"Thanks, Arlen,” said Calver
gratefully. He took a satisfying
draught of the beer, bit deeply into
one of the sandwiches.

The rain was heavy now, torren-
tial, obscuring the weather ports,
drumming upon the hull like a swarm
of micro-meteorites. The ship trem-

ASTOUNDING SCIENCE FICTION

bled as the gusts hit her, trembled
and groaned. Something crashed into
j, er — the branch of a tree? the tree
itself? — and she seemed to sag, to
sag and recover. Calver looked
around at the others. Arlen’s face was
pale, but calm. Levine’s thin features
had, somehow, assumed an almost
ludicrous expression of polite inter-
est. Fat little Pender was terrified,
and didn’t care who knew it. Old
Doc Malone looked like a Buddha
with Neanderthal Man somewhere in
his ancestry. Captain Engels' eyes
were the only part of him that seem-
ed alive, and they were fixed anxious-
ly on the aneroid with its plunging
needle.

"I wish you’d use more mustard
when you make sandwiches, Arlen,”
said Calver, his voice deliberately
casual.

"Mustard with lamb ?” she de-
manded scornfully.

"I like it,” he said.

"You would,” she replied.

"Will this wind get any worse?”
asked Pender anxiously.

"Probably,” said Calver.

"Mightn’t we be safer outside?”

"We might be — if we were am-
phibians, like the natives. This island
will be under water when the storm’s
at its height.”

"Oh,” said Pender. "Oh.”

The wind was steady now, but
stronger than any of the gusts had
been. Lorn Lady seemed to shift and
settle. Calver wished that he could
see out of the ports to inspect his stay
wires. He got to his feet and, ignor-
ing Pender’s protests, switched out

TO RUN THE RIM

the control room lights, switched on
the external floods. The ports to lee-
ward were clear enough, and through
them Calver could see the two lee
stays, silvery threads in the darkness,
hanging in graceful catenaries. It
must be, he realized, the weather
stays that had had all the weight, that
must have stretched. They were still
tight enough, bar taut, although they
could not be seen through the stream-
ing ports to wfndward. Their thrum-
ming could be felt rather than heard.
Walking to inspect the inclinometer,
Calver was not surprised to find that
the ship was all of three degrees
from the vertical.

He tried to dismiss from his mind
what the consequences would be
should a stay carry away, should one
of the tail fins to leeward crumple
under the strain. By the unsteady
glare of the lightning he made his
way back to his chair, sat down again.

"There’s nothing further that we
can do,” said Arlen.

"Not yet,” he said. "But there will
be.”

"When?” she asked. "How soon?’’

"I don’t know. We just have to
wait.”

"Can we have the lights on
again ?” asked Pender plaintively.

"Switch them on, then,” said Cal-
ver.

It was a little more cheerful with
normal lighting in the control room.
The wind and the rain, the thunder
and the lightning, were still there
but, somehow, more distant. There
was a sense of security — of false se-
curity Calver knew full well. There

y/as the sense of security that comes
from familiar surroundings, no mat-
ter what hell is raging unchecked
outside.

Now and again Calver would get
up to walk to the aneroid, to stand
with Captain Engels to stare at the
instrument. He knew what had to be
done when the needle stopped fall-
ing, and hoped that there would be
enough time for it to be done. He
thought how ironical it was that the
spacemen should be confronted with
a problem that must have been all too
familiar to the seamen of the long
dead days of sail on Earth’s seas, how
fantastic it was that Lorn Lady could
well be wrecked by the same forces
that had destroyed many a proud
windjammer.

As they waited, the air of the con-
trol room became heavy with smoke.
The burning tobacco eased the strain
on taut nerves, helped to dull the
apprehensions even of Pender. Arlen
got up from the arm of Calver’s chair
and went to make tea, taking some to
the engineers and Brentano, who
were still working on the pumps. Doc
Malone went to his cabin and re-
turned with a bottle of the raw liquor
of his own manufacture, insisted on
tipping a stiff tot into each tea-
cup.

Then — "It’s stopped falling!”
cried Captain Engels in a cracked
voice.

"The trough," said Calver. "Sir,
we must go outside again. There will
be a shift of wind at any moment and
when it comes, unless we have taken

up the slack on the lee stays, we shall
be caught aback.”

The Old Man grinned, and it was
like the grin of a death’s head. "By
all means, Mr. Calver. Do as you
see fit. I am afraid that I can be of
no help to you.”

"Your place is here, sir,” said Cal-
ver gently.

He led the way to the axial shaft,
clattered down the stairway to the
air lock. The tools that he had used
before were still there — the spanners
and the heavy spikes. With the others
standing well back, waiting, he open-
ed the outer air lock door a crack.
Save for a distant moaning and the
splashing of water, all was quiet. He
opened the door to its full extent,
saw in the light of the floods that the
sea had covered the island. The ramp
was gone, as he had expected that it
would be, but the ladder rungs, part
of the actual structure of the ship,
were still there.

He clambered down the ladder,
dropped into the water. It was not, to
his relief, cold and was a little less
than waist deep. Arlen followed,
then Levine, then Doc Malone. Pen-
der stayed in the air lock to pass the
tools down to them, came down him-
self with obvious reluctance.

They splashed clumsily through
the flood to the trees to which what
had been the lee stays were anchored.
It was heavy going; they could not
see what was underfoot and the float-
ing debris impeded their progress.
Once Arlen screamed faintly as she
blundered into the battered body of
one of the natives.

ASTOUNDING SCIENCE FICTION

Calver left Malone, Pender and
Levine at the nearer of the two slack
stays, carried on with Arlen to the
further one. He and the girl worked
well together, she holding the bar
that prevented the bottle screw from
rotating bodily, he turning with his
spike the threaded sleeve. He realized
that the other party was having trou-
ble. He could hear Doc Malone’s pic-
turesque curses and Pender’s petulant
whine.

He gave the sleeve a last half turn,
grasped the tight wire with his hand
to test it. It was taut, but not too
taut.

"Come on,” he said to Arlen,
"we’ll give the others a hand.
They — ”

The wind tore the words from his
mouth, threw them into the suddenly
howling darkness. He caught Arlen
by the ballooning slack of her shirt,
felt the fabric rip in his hand. He
flung himself after her as she stag-
gered helplessly down wind, caught
her and held her to him tightly. They
fell, both of them, and floundered
helplessly for long seconds under the
water. Calver regained his footing at
last, struggled to his feet, dragging
Arlen with him. He stood there, his
back to the wind and the torrential
rain, and looked at the tall, shining
tower that was the ship. He thought
that he saw her shudder, begin to
shift.

He turned slowly, fighting to re-
tain his balance, to look at the stays.
The one that he had tightened was
still taut, the other still hung in a
bight. Two figures at the bole of the

TO RUN THE RIM

tree — he knew that they would be
Malone and Levine — were fighting
yet with the refractory bottle screw.

Let the stay hold, he thought in-
tensely. Let the stay hold.

Before his horrified eyes the tree
to which it was made fast lifted, was
pulled up and clear of the water by
the whiplash of the wire. It looked,
with its sprawling roots, like some
huge, octopoid monster at the end of
a giant’s fishing line. At the other
end of the wire was Lorn Lady, and
she was toppling, as she must topple
with that dreadful pressure suddenly
all along her side. Over she went,
and over . . .

... and checked.

The second stay, the slack stay,
miraculously had held. By the bole
of the tree old Doc Malone raised his
pudgy arms slowly against the weight
of the wind, made the thumbs-up
sign.

And thumbs-up it is, thought Cal-
ver, as they struggled back to the
ship. He was even prepared to be
charitable to Pender, who had run
at the first sign of danger. But Pen-
der’s body they never found.

Captain Engels' body they found,
sprawled pitifully in his control
room. They all knew what must have
happened, did not need Doc Malone
to tell them that the old man’s heart
had stopped when it seemed to him
that his ship was doomed.

"Derek, I’m frightened,’’ said
Jane Arlen when the worst of it was
over and the wind was no more than
a moderate gale. "I’m frightened.
This jinx of mine . . .”

"We saved the ship,” said Calver.

"But this was the second thing,”
she said. "And they always come in
threes.”

"Shut up. Calamity Jane!” he
34

whispered, closing her mouth in the
most effective way of all.

Lorn Lady was pitifully shorthand-
ed and would be until her return to
Port Forlorn. Calver was Master and
Brentano, the electronic radio officer
— that unassuming Jack of all trades
— was his mate. Arlen was second
mate. Levine would have liked to
have helped out, but he was one of
those unfortunate people to whom
machines of any kind are an insoluble
mystery, to whom the language of
mathematics is absolute gibberish.

It was Levine who came into the
control room where Calver, to give
Arlen a chance to prepare a meal,
was standing part of her watch; old
Doc Malone was, in the opinion of
all hands, the Universe’s worst cook.

"Captain,” he said, "we have com-
pany."

"Company?” asked Calver. " Fara-
way Queen’s not due to make the
Eastern Circuit for another month.”
"It’s one of the T. G. Clippers,
said Levine. "Thermopylae. I’ve been
yarning to her P.R.O. He wanted the
names of the officers here.”

"Trans-Galactic? That’s Bendix’s
old company, isn't it ? Anyhow, what
in the galaxy is she doing out here?”
"A Galactic cruise, captain,” said
Levine, grinning. "See the romantic
Rim Worlds, Man’s last frontier.
Breathe the balmy air of Lorn, redo-
lent of sulfur dioxide and old socks.”
"And we’re getting paid for being
out here,” marveled Calver. "What
world is she visiting first?”

"None of the inhabited ones. She’s

ASTOUNDING SCIENCE FICTION

showing her passengers that weird
planet, Eblis. She’s going to hang off
it in closed orbit until they’ve had a
bellyful of spouting volcanoes and
lava lakes on the viewscreens; then
she’s making for Lorn.” He stiffened.
"Hello! Something’s wrong some-
where.”

Although no telepath himself, Cal-
ver felt a thrill of apprehension.
Psionic radio had always made him
feel uneasy. He could imagine the
psionic amplifier, the tissue culture
from the brain of a living dog, hang-
ing in its nutrient solution and prob-
ing the gulfs between the stars with
its tendrils of thought, sounding an
alarm in the brain of its master at the
first hint of some danger impercepti-
ble to the normal tun of humanity.

Levine’s face was expressionless,
his eyes glazed. He picked up the
stylus from its clip in the desk before
Calver, began to write in his neat
script on the scribbling pad.

S.O.S. S.O.S. Thermopylae, off
Eblis. Tube linings burned out, fall-
ing in spiral orbit to planet. Cannot
use Mannschenn Drive to break free
from orbit, ship still losing mass due
to leakage from after compartments.
Require immediate assistance. S.O.S.
S.O.S.

"Tell him,” said Calver, "that
we’re on our way.’’ He knew that
Bendix was in his drive room, called
him there. "Mr. Bendix," he said, "I
want you to be ready to push the
Drive as hard as you can without
throwing us back to last Thursday.
One of your old ships is in distress
off Eblis. I’ll give you the word as

TO RUN THE R1U

soon as I’ve made the necessary tra-
jectory adjustments.” He switched to
the Reaction Drive Engineer’s cabin.
"Mr. Renault, stand by your rockets
and gyroscopes. We’re going to the
assistance of Thermopylae." He
switched to Public Adress. "Will all
off-duty personnel report to Control,
jjlease?”

Levine was writing on the pad
again.

Thermopylae to Lorn Lady. I hear
you. Hurry, please. Estimated first
contact with atmosphere in thirty-six
hours.

Arlen and Brentano, followed
closely by old Doc Malone, came into
Control. Calver pointed to the pad,
then busied himself setting up the
Tri-Di chart on large scale. It show-
ed the ball of light that was the sun
of Eblis, the far smaller ball that was
Eblis itself and, just inside the sphere,
the tiny spark that was Lorn Lady.
He read off co-ordinates, threw the
problem to the computer and tried
not to show his impatience while the
machine quietly murmured to itself.
He looked at the figures on the
screen.

"Thirty-five hours,” he said. "But
Bendix should be able to cut that.”

"And Renault can give her an ex-
tra boost,” said Brentano.

"Cut Interstellar Drive,” ordered
Calver.

The familiar whine faltered and
died. Outside the ports the huge lens
of the Galaxy resolved itself from
what had been, as poor MacLean had
once put it, a Klein flask blown by a
drunken glass blower. There was the

hum of the big directional gyroscope
starting up.

"Doc,” said Calver, "you’d better
secure for acceleration. And you,
Arlen. Mr. Levine, is your amplifier
secure.”

"All secure," said Levine, snap-
ping out of' his daze.

"Then you’d better stay here. Tell
Thermopylae that we’re hurrying.”
The directional gyroscope was
braked to a sudden stop. At Calver’s
command the rockets burst into roar-
ing life, building up the acceleration.
Calver watched his meters and
gauges carefully. Too high an initial
speed would be as wasteful of time as
too low a one. Deceleration still had
to be carried out.

"That will do,” he said at last.
"Cut Reaction Drive, Mr. Brentano.”
"Cut Reaction Drive, sir.”
"Resume Interstellar Drive.”
"Resume Interstellar Drive.”

Into the mouthpiece of the tele-
phone Calver said, "It’s up to you,
Mr. Bendix.”

Below the two ships hung the
burning world of Eblis, a glowing
scarlet affront to the dark. Lorn Lady
had made the run in less than thirty-
three hours, Galactic Standard, but
there was little enough time to spare.
Thermopylae’s tow lines had been
broken out and were already shackled
to the lugs just abaft her needle
prow, all that remained to be done
was for her spacesuited personnel to
leap the gulf between the ships and
to shackle them to the lugs forward
of Lorn Lady’s after vanes.

But this took time, just as it took
time for Calver, with infinite care and
patience, to jockey his vessel into the
best position, to check that none of
the lines would be cut by his back-1
blast and then — carefully, carefully — j
to take the weight.

Mass, thrust, inertia — all had to
be juggled.

Calver juggled them, striving td
break the big ship out of her suicide
orbit while Brentano, operating the!
radar, checked and rechecked thd
readings that told, with dreadful fi-3
nality, that even though Lorn Lady
was doing her best it was not good
enough. Arlen sat beside Calver^
There was nothing that she could do^
but he knew that she was there andj
the knowledge gave him strength.

It was Arlen who looked at the;
pressure gauge, who saw that the
needle was falling fast. She signaled
to Brentano, who left his radar to
look at the dial.

"She’s rotten,” he whispered fierce-
ly. "She’s opening at the seams, leak-
ing like a colander.”

"Spacesuits ?” she asked.

"Of course. I’ll warn Doc and the
engineers.”

Arlen nudged Levine, who was sit-
ting on the other side of her. She
said, "Get into your spacesuit.” She
turned to watch Calver, waited until
she saw the tense lines of his jaw
momentarily relax. "Derek! We’re
losing air, fast. You’ll have to get
into a suit."

He glanced at the pressure gauge,
saw the seriousness of the situation.
He pondered briefly the advisability

ASTOUNDING SCIENCE FICTION

of turning the controls over to Bren-
tano for a minute or so, then dis-
missed the idea. Brentano was a good
man, an excellent man, but had no
experience with ship handling.

"Derek!” Arlen’s voice was sharp.
"Your suit!”

"It will have to wait.”

That pound or so of extra thrust,
he thought. Renault’s giving her all
he's got. But . . .

"Your suit!”

He glanced away from the con-
trols, saw that all the others, except
Arlen, were already wearing the
bulky, pressurized garments, the
transparent helmets.

"Put yours on," he snapped.
"That’s an order!”

Thrust . . . Thrust . . . And for
lack of thrust the needle peaks of
the hell world beneath them were
reaching up through the ruddy, glow-
ing clouds, reaching up to rip the
belly of the huge Trans-Galactic Clip-
per with her fifteen hundred passen-
gers and three hundred of a crew, to
rip her belly and to spill her scream-
ing people into the lava lakes below.
He should have used his boats,
thought Calver, Thermopylae’s cap-
tain should have used his boats and
put his people into the relative safety
of a closed orbit around the planet
while there was time. He would have
used his boats, either to attempt a tow
or for lifesaving, if I hadn’t come
bumbling along in this decrepit old
tub with my futile promises of assist-
ance.

He chanced another sidewise
glance, saw that Brentano and Levine

TO BUN THE RIM

were forcing Arlen into her suit.

Thrust, he thought. Thrust . . .
The auxiliary jets . . . But the tow
lines . . . How long will they last
in the blast of the auxiliaries?

Levine, his hand clumsy in the
thick glove, was writing on the
pad.

Thermopylae to Lorn Lady. It was
a good try, but intend to abandon
ship before it is too late.

"Wait,” said Calver. "Tell him —
Wait!” he shouted,_ hoping that
Levine would hear him through his
helmet.

His hand dropped to the firing
keys of the auxiliary jets. He felt the
sudden surge of additional power
that pressed him down into the pad-
ding of the chair. Dimly, he saw
Brentano turn away from the radar,
his dark face behind the helmet
transparency one big grin.

There was a sudden shock, a sharp
shift of orientation.

The first of the wires gone,
thought Calver, but it doesn’t matter
now. Then he felt, rather than heard,
the dreadful splintering and grind-
ing. The air was gone from the con-
trol room in one explosive gasp and
he was choking, suffocating. Jane was
bending over him — Jane, Calamity
Jane. It’s not your fault, he was try-
ing to say. Darling, it’s not your
fault. But his lungs were empty and
no sound came.

She got the helmet over his head
and opened the valve. Calver took a
deep breath and held it until, aided
by Arlen and Brentano, he had the
rest of the suit on.

When he was sealed in, he asked,
"What happened?”

"She broke in two, captain,” said
Brentano. "After that first wire car-
ried away. Everybody’s safe, luckily,
but the ship’s a total loss.”

"And Thermopylae ?” asked Oli-
ver.

"Safe and sound in a closed orbit,”
Brentano told him.

Through the control room ports
they could see the fiery globe that was
Eblis, the incredibly long, slim shape
of the Trans-Galactic Clipper. They
could see, too, the after section of
Lorn Lady and the busy, spacesuited
figures working around the stern. Al-
though the old ship was dead, some
of her would live on for a while. Her
cannibalized tube linings would pro-
vide Thermopylae with the jury rig
to make Port Forlorn.

"Derek," said Jane Arlen, her
voice strange sounding in the helmet
phones, "I always bring bad luck
with me, wherever I go. Perhaps
you’ll believe me now.”

"Rubbish," he replied. "Lorn Lady
was due for the breakers years ago.
And by the time that the lawyers
have finished arguing, Rim Runners
will be getting a fine jiew ship out
of the deal and — who knows? — I
may be master of her.”

She said, ignoring his optimism,
"I hate to leave her. The poor old
Lorn Lady . .

"We must go,” he said gently.
"They are waiting for us aboard
Thermopylae."

Together they left the old, broken
38

ship. Together, using their suit reac-
tion units, they jetted across the emp-
tiness to the big liner, to the circle
of light that was the air lock door. In
the little compartment they divested
themselves of their spacesuits, felt
pride in rather than embarrassment
for the shabby uniforms so revealed.
They stepped through the inner door,
-the magnetic soles of their shoes si-
lent on the carpeted deck. Steel lay
beneath it but, as they had known
when they, themselves, had served in
vessels of this class, passengers must
be shielded from the harsh realities
of Space.

The young officer waiting to re-
ceive them saluted smartly.

"Glad to have you aboard, Cap-
tain Calver,” he said. "May I take
you to Captain Hendriks?”

"Thank you,” said Calver.

They followed their guide along
alleyways, through public rooms. Pas-
sengers stared curiously at the man
who had lost his ship to save their
lives. Calver was thankful when they
entered the comparative privacy of
the big ship’s axial shaft. Hand over
hand, he and Arlen pulled themselves
swiftly along the guide rail behind
the Thermopylae’s officer.

The captain of the liner — an old
man, a man who had aged years in
the last few hours — was seated be-
hind his big desk. He snapped open
his seat belt as they entered his day
cabin, advanced to meet them.

He said, "Captain Calver, my
thanks are inadequate.”

"I did what I could, captain,” said
Calver.

ASTOUNDING SCIENCE FICTION

"At least,” said Hendriks, "I shall the other captain., "But you’ll be able
Jo what I can, too. Sometimes, in to return now, to the warmth and the
wrangles over salvage money, the light of the Center."
owners of the ships involved are re- "So we shall," said Calver, with a
membered and their crews, who have mild amazement. "So we shall." His
done all the work, are forgotten. But hand found Jane Aden's, closed up-
I am not without influence — ” on it, felt the answering warmth and

"That aspect of the matter had pressure. "But I belong on the Rim,"
never occurred to me," said Calver. he said. "We belong on the
"You must hate it out here," said Rim.”

' THE END

IN TIMES TO COME

The February issue coming up has at least three things scheduled that are
worth looking for: 1. One of Kelly Freas’ best covers. Which, of course/
means it’s good; he’s been winning the annual Science Fiction Art Awards
with great regularity. It illustrates — or typifies — the new -Murray Leinster
novel, "The Pirates of Ersatz,” which is Item #2, and contains the most
lovely, logical argument that the Galactic Economy can be healthy only when
there are efficient pirates at work that anyone ever dreamed up. It’s so good
it sounds honest.

The third item of note is a new Leonard Lockhart article entitled, "That
Professional Touch,” which further explores — or deplores, depending on
how you look at it — the status of Patent Law.

You’ll have fun with all three.

The Editor.

TO RUN THE RIM

NEW

HEARTH

FIRES

at the feet of demigods. What of

them when the half -gods go...?

Illustrated by Martinez

ASTOUNDING SCIENCE FICTION

'-‘IttH i S 1 HE last dog on Earth

= was dying. It was a

II small, but important,

II crisis. None other of

— 1 his kind was known to

still exist on any of the other worlds.
It was quite probable that there were
no others and that with him the race
would end. Nothing seemed to be

wrong with this dog named Alpha.
He was still young and in no way
hurt or diseased. But still he was
dying.

The curator of the museum world
that was Earth at this time was quite

V U

\\ 'a 1

n i' :

■:!iv

H iii l

v, 1 ' r,i

■ v \>

' t

/.-V

:ric

BY NEW HEARTH FIRES

concerned about the situation. He
had done everything he could with
the large, brown and white canine,
utilized every device and therapy
available at the hospital center in the
Adirondack mountains. But the dog,
unlike all the other sick animals
brought in from the various parks and
exhibit areas of the Earth, responded
to none of his efforts. It was not the
curator’s fault, of course. But still
he felt the matter as a sort of failure
— that the race of dogs, important as
it had been to the past history of
man, should terminate during his
term of office.

He coded a request to the Galactic
Center for the person most likely to
be of help to him in this situation;
and a few weeks later a well-known
historical psychologist, named Dr.
Anius arrived on Earth, accompanied
by his son, a bright twelve-year old
named Geni. The curator was on
hand to meet them as they stepped
off the transportation platform at the
edge of the hospital area.

"Dr. Laee?” said Anius, descend-
ing from the platform and offering
his hand. He was a tall, brown-haired
man in his first hundred years, and
his handgrip was firm. "I brought my
boy along to give him this chance to
look- over the home world. He won’t
be in the way. Geni, this is the
Curator, here, Dr. Laee.”

Laee shook hands also with the
boy, a slim lad well over two meters
in height and showing signs of being
another lean, tall individual like his
father. Laee, originally from the far
side of the galaxy, was from a rather

shorter ancestral strain, than these
Center people, but age had put him
past the point of noticing that dif-
ference.

"Come along into the hospital,”
he said.

They strolled up the narrow, resili-
ent walk through the hospital area.
The grassy grounds were occupied by
a number of different animals, ar-
ranged by species, that were currently
at the hospital and undergoing treat-
ment. The boy stared in fascination
at a whooping crane which was turn-
ing around and around in an attempt
to get a better look at one of its
wings, which had been set for a
break, and bound in staSis.

"I had no idea there were so many
I wouldn’t know,” he said to the
curator.

"The original Earth was very rich
in varieties,” replied the curator.
"One way or another, we have speci-
mens of nearly all, though in many
cases we had to breed back for ex-
tinct forms.”

"How do you keep them separate?”
asked Geni, his gray eyes ranging
over the apparently open grounds.

"Tingle barriers separate the
groups into small areas,” answered
Laee. "Remind me to give you a key,
when you want to examine the ani-
mals more closely.”

They reached the entrance to the
curator’s quarters after seeing a buffalo
who had just had his horn amputat-
ed, a Kodiak bear with an infected
ear, and a large gorilla with a skin
rash allergy who sat back in the
shadows of his little groves of bushes

ASTOUNDING SCIENCE FICTION

and watched their passing with sad,
intelligent eyes.

"I assume,” said the tall Dr. Anius,
as they passed into the main lounge of
the curator’s area, "you could also
rebreed the domestic dog from one
of your other canine forms if we’re
completely unsuccessful in saving
this specimen?”

”Oh, of course,” said Laee. "But
naturally, I like to know what his
affliction is, so we can stop it if it
ever props up again. And then,” he
paused, turning his eyes on Anius,
"it would be nice to maintain the
original line.”

They went on into a farther room
that was half library, half patio. The
bright afternoon spring sun came in
through the invisible ceiling and
struck warmly upon the patches of
grass and flowers. On the white flag-
stone a furry body lay outstretched,
eyes closed and clean limbs stretched
out and still, with only the slow
rise and fall of the narrow chest to
indicate life.

“Is that him?” asked the boy.

"That’s him,” said the curator.
They all three came up and stood
over the dog who lifted his eyelids
to look at them, then closed the lids
again, without stirring.

“Is he helpless?” asked Anius.

"No . . . not helpless,” said the
curator. “He’s weak, mainly from
not eating anything to speak of these
last few weeks. But he’s got energy
enough to move around when he
wants to. Alpha!” he said, sharply.
"Alpha!”

The dog opened his eyes again.

and half-lifted his head. He moved
his tail, briefly, and then — as if it
were too much of an effort, lay back
again. His eyes, however, remained
open, watching them. The boy, Geni,
stared at those eyes in an odd sort of
fascination. They were as brown and
liquid as a human's, but they had
something different — he thought of it
as a clearness or transparency — that
he had never noticed before in eyes
of any kind.

"If you two don’t mind stepping
out,” said his father, "I’d like to
examine him with no one else around
to distract him.”

The boy and the curator went out
together.

"As long as we have to wait,”
said the curator, "how’d you like
to look around the planet a bit?"

"I’d enjoy that,” said Geni. "If
it’s not too much trouble — ”

"No trouble at all,” said the cura-
tor. He led the way to a small plat-
form, sitting by the fireplace in the
main lounge; and they both got on.
“This job’s something of a sinecure,
generally.”

He set the controls that took them
directly to a spot a little ways out
from the world where they could
see the North American Continent
as a whole; and, pointing out various
features of historic interest, moved
on around the globe.

"... There are capsules of detail
on this information back in my li-
brary,” Laee said, between para-
graphs of his talk. "You can pick
them out later, if you want This

BY NEW HEARTH FIRES

world, of course, is too crammed
with history for me to be able to do
justice to it on a quick sweep like
this, but it’s my belief that immedi-
acy is a great virtue. You may get
more of the feel of it from this sort
of presentation.”

"I’m overwhelmed,” said the boy.
"I am.”

"Ah, then, you’re a responsive,”
said Laee. "So. few are. Many of the
visitors here make a valiant effort — I
see them at it — but for all their
trouble they achieve no emotional
response. And I think they go away
thinking that it’s all a rather unnec-
essary expense.”

They descended at random and
landed on Salisbury plain, in Eng-
land, within the toothed circle of a
reconstructed Stonehenge. The mid-
afternoon July sun struck warmly be-
tween the upright blocks as it had
for thousands of years, but the heavy
shadows were cold.

They boy shivered suddenly, look-
ing about him,

"They were different, weren’t
they?” he said.

"Anthropologists deny it,” said
Laee, "that we have changed. But I
know what you feel. I feel it myself,
sometimes — and particularly on this
world.”

"Should we go?”. asked Geni.

They went on, to see the Louvre
and the Forum, and the Taj Mahal
and the Angkor Thom and Angkor
Vat — and so by way of the Christ of
the Andes back to the hospital.

Anius was sitting in the main
lounge when they came in, the dog

Alpha not far from him, lying
stretched out on the rosy tile of the
floor with the brown fur of his back
turned to the fireplace, as if in dis-
dain at its illusion of a blaze.

"Been seeing the Earth, have you?”
he said, smiling up at them as they
approached.

"We hit some of the high spots,”
replied the curator, as he and the boy
sat down. "Have you discovered any-
thing about the dog?”

Anius shook his head slowly and'
looked over at Alpha.

"He’s dying because he has no
will to live,” he answered. "But you
know that already. These creatures
are strange.” He stared at the dog,
who returned the gaze without stir-
ring. "Their psychology is baffling.”
"But I thought” said the curator,
who had turned to the table beside
him and was coding for a meal to
be served the three of them, "animal
psychology was at least as well under-
stood as the human.” -

"Oh yes, most of them,” said
Anius. "The monkey, and ape family
now — ” he smiled suddenly across
his lean face, "how we know that
bunch ! And the wild strains, and the
herd animals. But the dog — and to
a lesser extent, the cat, and the
horse. All of those that had some
peculiar partnership in man’s history.
These, we do not understand.” A cart
came gliding into the room with the
meal upon it and stopped between
them. Anius reached out for a tum-
bler of clear liquid. "Perhaps that’s
why — they were too close.”

"You mean it would be like under-

ASTOUNDING SCIENCE FICTION

standing ourselves?" said Laee. But
we do, don t we?

"In everything that’s pin-downable,
we do," said Anius. "But there’s
more than that, or each one of us
wouldn’t be an individual, in his
own right.”

"Father,” said the boy, "what were
they like — the ones who built Stone-
henge?”

Anius laughed and set his glass
down.

“You see there?" he said to the
curator. "I can’t answer that.” He
turned to his son. "The original
Stonehenge, you mean ? I can tell you
what they looked and talked like —
and even something of what they
thought. But what they felt — ”

"That’s what I mean,” said the
boy, eagerly.

His father spread his hands help-
lessly.

"The science of emotions is no
science,” he said. "It’s an art. Which
was why Art developed automatically
to express it. Look at what ancient
man has done — and you’re as close
to him as I can come with all I
know.”

"Yes,” said the curator, musingly,
over a biscuit, held in one hand. "I
understand that, I think."

"But — ” began the boy.

"It’s not natural for men to be
martyrs and heroes and tyrants,” his
father continued, as if he had not
heard. "But they had them. We can
attempt to explain the bad in men of
those times by saying these were
warped personalities. But how do you

explain the good — I mean the better
than normal — ” he interrupted him-
self, looking at the curator.

"A code of ethics — " said the
curator.

"Does not completely explain it,”
said Anius. "There was a very good
paper written several hundred years
back by somebody whose name slips
my mind at this moment,” he frown-
ed for a second over the effort of
remembering, then gave it up,
"which attempted to prove that an
ethical existence is the most practical
one for any intelligent species as a
species, from the time that they first
begin to show intelligence. But there
were flaws in his argument — there
were flaws — ”

He fell silent; and the boy and
the curator were both just opening
their mouths to speak, thinking he
was through, when he looked up and
addressed Laee, directly.

“I believe you told me Alpha, here,
started his decline from the time he
was left alone in the world, so to
speak.”

"Well, yes," said the curator. "But
his symptoms are unique in that. I
mean ... we used to have quite a
number of these dogs.”

"In a separate area?”

"Yes. We had something like a
farm, or a country place, covering
several square miles. There was a
building, circa 1880s, old reckoning,
a barn, some farm animals.”

"And some robots in human form,
I suppose," said Anius.

"That’s right. But they weren’t put
there for the dogs’ benefit," said the

BY NEW HEARTH FIRES

curator. "They were just part of the
exhibit — as the dogs themselves were,
originally.”

"And then they started to die off?
I mean, the dogs, of course,” said
Anius.

"The group began to dwindle.
Smaller litters were born; and the
puppies did all right during their
growing period, but began to give up,
like Alpha, here, and die shortly
after maturity. Alpha was one of a
litter of two. His sister was born
dead, and he and his mother were
the last two of the species. When
she died — ”

"He began to go this way?”

The curator nodded.

"I see,” said Anius, thoughtfully,
nodding at the glass in his hand. "I
see — ”

"Father,” said Geni, the fresh,
tight diin of his brow stretching in
a frown, "about these men who did
build Stonehenge — ”

In the following days Dr. Anius
gave himself over wholly to the ob-
servation and care of the dog. To the
curator watching, it all seemed a lit-
tle marvelous; and he himself felt a
touch of humbleness at the thought
of having harnessed so much intelli-
gence and erudition, as it were, to
such a small and common problem.
For a few days Alpha actually seem-
ed to revive under this attention. He
occasionally followed Anius around,
and even consented to eat several
times. But shortly after that it could
be seen that he was sinking back
into his apathy again.

"Perhaps," Laee suggested, offering
the ready-made excuse like a polite
host, "it was impossible to begin
with. You’ve been very generous
with your time.”

"When there’s life, there’s hope,
as that hoary saying goes," objected
Anius. They were sitting in the same
library-patio with Alpha stretched out
at their feet and apparently dozing.
"And the challenge is . . . well, a
challenge.” He smiled at the curator.
"It wouldn’t take much imagination
to pretend that there’s some old mag-:
ic still at work on this world of
yours. You’ve noticed Geni?”

"He’s very interested in the local!
past,” said Laee. i

"He’s head over heels interested
in the local past," said Anius. "But I
suppose it’s natural at his age.”

"That reminds me,” said Laee, al-
most a trifle shyly, "he’s dropping
by in a few minutes. He wants to ask
you something.”

Anius raised his head and looked
closely at the curator.

"It must be something he suspects
I won’t approve of,” he said dryly,
"if he has to send advance warning
through you, this way.”

"I don’t know what he has in
mind,” said Laee, quickly. And
changed the subject.

Some ten minutes later, Geni came
into the patio and sat down. His
father stared at him. The boy was
dressed in an odd, archaic costume
consisting of boots, slacks and jacket.

"I see,” said Anius. "You want to
play-act some historical role or other ?
That’s your plan.”

ASTOUNDING SCIENCE FICTION

'Well, yes,” said Geni. He shifted,

a little uncomfortably on his chair.

He had been very sure of himself.

but now the words would not come
for his argument. He had been out,
roaming the face of the Earth by him
self; and he had seen the fresh, clean
earth bla

spring and smelled the many odors
of the open wind. Something in all
this had moved him; but he found
that now facins his father, he had

... a little like they used to. And I’d
like to take the dog along. It might
work for him."

"Fantasy!” said his father, "You
realize, you can’t go back?”

’’Oh. I know that,” said Geni
quickly. "It’d be play-acting,, as you
say. But there’s something there I’d
like to touch.”

"The past is the past,” said his
father. "There’s a certain emotional
danger in entertaining the notion that
it might be otherwise. Everyone who
works in the field of history has to
realize that. It’s like studying some-
thing attractive through a glass which
can’t be broken. You risk frustra-
tion.”

"It would be good for the dog,”
said the boy. "He’s not improving, is
he? If I took him out and exposed
him to notiiing but the kind of en-
vironment his kind flourished in,
then maybe — ” he let the sentence
hang, watching his father.

"I’m not sure I approve of that,
either,” said Anius, slowly. "It’s
rather on the order of tinkering at
random with a mechanical device
whose principle of operation you do
not understand. By accident you may
cure its malfunction, but there’s an
equal or greater chance you may dam-
age it further.”

"Alpha’s dying,” said the boy.
"And you aren’t saving him. No-
body’s saving him. I could try my
experiment without him, but I’d
rather have him, and .it wouldn’t
hurt to try.”

"What do you think?” asked Ani-
us, turning to the curator.

'Tve been bitten by Geni’s bug,
many years now.” Laee rubbed his
short-fingered hands together and
smiled wryly. "And I’ve never got
over it. Call me devil’s advocate, if
you wish. But it might help the dog,
at that.”

"Has anything like it ever been
tried before?” asked Anius.

Laee shook his head.

"Not as far as the records show,”
he said. "Give the two of them a
week or so, why don’t you? At the
end of that time we should be able
to tell about Alpha, one way or an-
other. Of course, I realize it would
leave you at loose ends — but now
that you’re here on Earth, perhaps
there’s material here in our files or
otherwise you may have wanted to
examine ... a week’s worth of it,
anyway.”

"Much more than that. I’d planned
to stay over anyway — ” Anius waved
his hand, dismissing that element of
the problem. "It’s just that I feel a
certain professional responsibility to-
ward the dog, now . . . well, go
ahead, if you want to,” he wound
up, turning to Geni.

The boy’s face lit up.

Early the next morning, they left
the clinic, Geni and Alpha. The dog,
like all the other animals there, had
been restrained by the invisible tingle
barriers from straying into areas
where he was not wanted to go; and,
in spite of the fact that now he, like
Geni, wore a key that cut out a bar-
rier as soon as he touched it, he had
to be urged to strike out across the

ASTOUNDING SCIENCE FICTION

grounds, and cringed slightly as he
followed the boy at the end of a

leash. ^ . i

"You won’t stray off the grounds?

Anius said to Geni, as they left.

"Not if you don’t want us to,
Father,” said the boy, looking up at
the man with an expression of slight
puzzlement. "It really doesn’t matter
where we go, as long as we stay out
of the clinic itself.”

"Fine,” said Anius. "Because I’d
like to check on the dog from time
to time by local scan.”

"All right, Father.”

They turned and went, walking
away through the areas of the sick
and injured animals. Alpha’s head
glancing to right and left at the wild
creatures with a wariness, but Geni
moving with the unconscious uncon-
cern of a being who knew his sci-
ence.

Anius and Laee watched them go.
The dog, Alpha, trotting at the end
of his leash, shied from the Kodiak
with the infected ear, and sniffed
curiously, a second later, at the go-
rilla with the allergy rash. They
moved on, dwindling, and passing at
length from sight among a small
grove of pines.

"And now,” said Anius, turning
to the curator, "I’ll start my poking
through your files.”

The files, indeed, turned out to be
even far more interesting to an his-
torical psychologist than Anius had
expected. They consisted of nothing
more — and nothing less — than a
great mass of statistics and informa-

tion about all periods of human
history on Earth. Taken item by
item, they were as dry as old news-
print; but investigating them was
like looking up an item in an en-
cyclopedia, where each page turned
over sowed fishhooks for the atten-
tion, in the shape of odd and hitherto
unknown avenues of knowledge.
Anius felt caught, as he had not been
caught in decades, by a lust that drew
him down these obscure paths and
into the wilderness of civilizations
long dead and put to rest. The mirage
of something not fully understood
fled always just a little ways ahead
of him, and the more he overtook it
in his absorption of facts from the
past, the more it drew away from
him, and drew him on; until in the
end he pursued it headlong, without
attempting analysis or self-under-
standing, like a man in love.

In this occupation he suddenly
lost himself; and several days went
by as if the time they represented
had unexpectedly evaporated. He
was startled to find Laee at his el-
bow, one afternoon.

"Eh?” he said, looking up from
the screen before him. "What’s
that?"

"You said you wanted to check on
Alpha’s condition from time to
time,” Laee was standing close, with
his round face bent a little curiously
over him. "You haven’t made any
attempt — and I just now hap-
pened to pick up Geni and the
dog on a routine check of the
grounds.”

"Oh . . . oh yes,” said Anius, get-

BY NEW HEARTH FIRES

ting to his feet. "Where’s your scan
board?”

"Through here.”

Laee led him into a little side
room. They looked over a small or-
namental railing into a little area of
imaged outdoors, solid enough ap-
pearing in its three dimensions to be
an actuality. Anius saw his son, still
in the archaic jacket and boots, seat-
ed cross-legged before an actual wood
fire, burning on the grass of an- open
space surrounded by pine and birch.
On the other side of the fire, Alpha
lay on his belly, nose between his
paws. His eyes were open, but they
were not on Geni. They were gazing
instead into the almost invisible
flames of the fire.

Seeing them there, Anius felt a
sudden entirely irrational and new
twinge, of panic, as if he were watch-
ing his son out of reach and drown-
ing in some strange waters’.

"Geni!” he called.

"Just a minute — " said Laee. The
boy had not looked up. The curator
adjusted a control and nodded at
Anius.

"Geni!” he said again, loudly.

The boy looked up. The dog’s ears
flicked and stirred, but he did not
move. Geni looked over to one side
as if he could actually see them, but
the gaze of his image went past the
two men in the room, the way the
gaze of a blind mari does.

"Father?” he said.

"It’s all right," said Anius more
calmly. "I just didn’t realize the
sound element wasn’t on.” He took
a breath and went on more calmly.

60 '

"Alpha looks good. How’ve yoh
been doing?’’

"I don’t know. I think he’s better,’"
said the boy. "We’ve been moving]
around the grounds a lot. He’s pretty;
interested in the other animals. He
perked up the first day — and he’^
been eating pretty well until just to--j
day.” i

"Something happened today ?’*j
asked the curator. _ j

"No,” said Geni, shifting his gaze;
at the other voice, but still looking,
past them. "But when I stopped and!
built the fire here for our midday
meal, he didn't seem hungry. And,
he doesn’t seem to want to follow me
away from the fire.”

"If he shows any obvious signs of
physical illness, let me know,” said,
Laee.

"I will,” answered Geni. "Father?”
"Yes, Geni?” said Anius.

"Are you keeping occupied all
right?”

Anius smiled.

"Yes,” he said. "I’m quite busy oii
some files here. Geni — how far from
the clinic are you?” '

"About ten kilometers, I imagine,”
said Geni. "Why?”

"I just wondered. Keep in touch
with us, son.”

"I will.”

"Good-by.”

"Good-by, Father.”

"Good-by,” said Laee.

"Good-by.”

Laee touched a control and the
scene vanished, leaving a small area
of bare, bright yellow floor enclosed
by the little railing.

ASTOUNDING SCIENCE FICTION

'Tve a little more scanning to do,”
said Laee, looking up at his tall
guest. "I won’t keep you from your
own work.

"Oh, yes . . . yes,” said Anius,
starting a little. He lifted his hand
in a friendly gesture and went out
the door of die scan room. But he did
not go back to the files. Deep in
thought, he wandered through the
living quarters of the clinic and out
onto the grounds. The afternoon was
reddening into its later hours just
before sunset and the long shadows
lay across his path. Again he felt the
whisper of something like a panic,
but it sank and mellowed into a sad-
ness, a feeling of regret no deeper
than the transience of the passing
day. He found himself standing by
the area where the gorilla sat and
he looked across the distance of a few
short meters into its wrinkle-hooded
eyes. And the gorilla looked back
with a wondering unhappiness that
had no language to explain itself,
its great and hairy arms crossed on
its knees.

"What do you know?” Anius ask-
ed it. "What do you know?”

And the gorilla blinked and turned
its head shyly and painfully away.

Anius sighed and turned back
toward the clinic, and the files.

”1 hesitate to mention this,” said
Laee, over lunch two days later, "but
have you run across something in the
files that 'disturbs you? It’s not my
intention to pry; but as curator
here — ”

"Of course,” said Anius. He put
by new hearth fires

down the glass he was holding and
shook his head. "There’s nothing, ex-
cept — ” he hesitated. "There is
. nothjng, that’s just it.”

"I’m afraid — ” began Laee.

"I know, I’m not being clear,”
Anius waved a hand in apology. "It’s
not the files. It’s this whole world of
yours . . . I’m half prepared to be-
lieve it’s haunted. It puts questions
into my mind.”

"For example,” said Laee, en-
couragingly.

"Do you suppose,” said Anius,
very slowly, "that something could
be lost, without its loss being
known?”

"Lost from the files?”

"No,” said Anius. "Lost to us, by
us, as a people, without our knowing
it. Do you suppose it would be pos-
sible for us to have taken a turning,
somewhere along the way — a turning
that was maybe right, and maybe
wrong — but a turning that put us
past the hope of going back to, find
our original path?”

Laee spread his hands and smiled,
with a little shrug.

"No!” said Anius, forcefully. "I
mean it, as a serious question.” Laee
frowned at him.

"In that case — ” he said, and
paused. "No, I still don’t understand
you.”

"There was an old legend on this
world, once,” said Anius, "about the
elephants’ graveyards.”

"I know it,” Laee nodded.

"Because the remains of dead ele-
phants were not found, because of
. the value of ivory if great boneyards

existed, a theory of a dramatic end
for elephants was invented. Only the
truth was that the scavengers, small
and large, in the jungle disposed of
all remains. The true end was not
remarkable, not impressive, but
natural and a little' dull. Gradually,
the dead elephant disappeared. As if
— ” Anius hesitated, "he had never
been.”

"Come now,” said Laee smiling,
"the human race is a long ways from
the end of its existence — if, indeed,
it's going to end at all.”

"I think,” said Anius, with a
slight shiver, "all things end.”

A sudden mellow note, like the
sound of a gong, echoed through
the clinic. Both men looked up,
startled; and Laee, frowning in sur-
prise, reached over and pressed a
stud on the table by his chair. A
bright little shimmer sprang into
existence ini front of the imitation
fire on the hearth of the lounge and
resolved itself into the face of Geni,
looking up at them.

"What is it, Son?” asked Anius,
for the boy's face was strained.

"I’m sorry, Father,” said Geni.
"But I’ve lost Alpha. I thought I
could find him by myself and not
bother you. But I can’t.”

"Tell us what happened,” said
Laee, leaning forward.

"He ran off yesterday, during the
night, I guess,” said Geni. "He was
gone in the morning. I hunted for
him yesterday, and found some
tracks this morning crossing a couple
of tingle barriers. No other animal
could do that — Alpha’s the only one

carrying a key — ’’ the boy broke off.
"I think ... I think the gorilla got
him. You know . . . the one just a
little ways from the clinic. I’m at the
gorilla’s area, now. But I don’t have
anything protective with me. I don't
dare go in.”

"We’ll be right there,” said the
curator, getting to his feet.

"Wait where you are, Geni,” said
Anius, also rising.

"All right, Father. I’m sorry,” said
the boy. He broke the connection.

Laee got a paralyzer from his
stores and the two men set out on
foot toward the area where the gorilla
was enclosed. It was just a couple of
minutes walk from the clinic; and as
they rounded a little clump of lilac
bifshes, they saw Geni standing un-
happily at the edge of the area, and
the gorilla itself squatting in front
of the little grove of bushes that had
been designed to give it the privacy
the powerful but shy anthropoid de-
sired.

Geni turned to look at them as
the two men approached together,
Laee carrying the paralyzer with a
practiced and competent grip.

"I’m sure he’s back in there,” Geni
said, as they came up. "I can’t quite
see him now, but I saw him before.”

"Let me call him,” said Laee. He
stepped up to the edge of the tingle
barrier and raised his voice. "Alpha!”
He waited a second, and then called
again. "Alpha!”

There was no immediate response
from the shadows of the bushes, but
the gorilla, his attention suddenly di-

ASTOUNDING SCIENCE FICTION

rected to Laee, all at once recognized
the paralyzer in the curator's hand
and threw up one thick clumsy arm
t*?fore his face, shrinking back and
away.

Immediately, there was movement
in the bushes and the dog came out.
Pushing in front of the huddled go-
rilla, he stood squarely, facing the
men.

''There he is,” said Laee, raising
the paralyzer. The gorilla whimpered.
Alpha snarled suddenly, and Anius
caught at the curator’s arm.

''No!” he said. "Don’t.”

Laee turned and stared at him. The
boy cried out.

"But he’s got Alpha!”

"Come along,” said Anius, putting

a hand on both of them. "Leave
them.”

Slowly, the curator lowered the
paralyzer. He was frowning at Anius.
Then his frown cleared and he slow-
ly nodded.

"But,” cried the boy again, "he’s
got Alpha. He’s got our dog."

Anius put his long arm around
his son’s shoulders and turned him
about. And the three of them walked
away, toward the silver dome of the
clinic, which from where they were
seemed to shimmer in the noon sun
like a bright bubble, earth- tethered
there for only a little time and
against its will.

"No, Son,” he said, gently. "Not
our dog. He’s not our dog any more."

THE END

THE ANALYTICAL LABORATORY

From this month’s reader votes, it appears that you like Big stories. At any
rate "The Big Front Yard” and "Big Sword” won first and second places in
the poll.

It’s been some time since I explained the An Lab setup, and some newer
readers may want the data: Reader letters are tabulated, and their votes for
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the lowest score wins. The votes for each story are totaled, and divided by
the number voting on that story— not all readers vote on all stories — to yield
the "point score.” The point score determines the place of the story.

And here is why our authors follow the results of that voting of yours
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your words!

(Continued on page 82)

BY NEW HEARTH FIRES

.BARN

BY FOUL ANDERSON

The shortest way may not be the quickest — or even a
possible — way to the goal. And, on occasion, the way to
get where you’re going is to push hard the other way.

VOBODA was about
sixty years old. He did
not know his exact age.
The Lowlevel seldom
counted such things,
and his earliest memory was of weep-
ing in an alley while rain fell past an
overhead beltway that roared. After-
ward his mother died and someone,
who claimed to be his father, but
probably wasn’t, sold him to Inky the
thiefmaster.

Sixty was ancient for a man of the
masses, whether he slunk cat-fashion
through soot and noise and sudden
death in a city Lowlevel or— more
healthfully if with less freedom —
squirmed along a mine shaft or tend-
ed engine on a plankton reaper. For
an upperlevel Citizen, or a Guardian,
sixty was only middle-aged. Svoboda,
who had spent half his life in either

category, looked as old as Satan but
could hope for another two decades.

If you wanted to call it hope, he
thought wryly.

His left foot was paining him
again. It was a lump within the spe-
cial shoe. When he was twelve or so,
scrambling over a garden wall with
a silver chalice contributed by one
Engineer Harkavy, an explosive slug
from a guard’s pistol had smashed
all the bones. He got away somehow,
but it was a cruel thing to happen to
one of the most agile and promising
lads in the Brotherhood. Inky reap-
prenticed him to a fence, which
forced him to learn reading and writ-
ing and thus started him on a long
road up. Twenty-five years afterward,
when Svoboda was Commissioner of
Astronautics, a medic recommended
prosthetizing the broken foot.

ROBIN HOOD’S BARN

"I can make you one that you could
hardly tell from the real thing, sir,”
he offered.

"Undoubtedly,” said Svoboda. "I
have seen our older Guardians tot-
tering around with prosthetic hearts
and prosthetic stomachs and a sort of
prosthetic eye. I am sure the onward
march of science will soon come to
a prosthetic brain, which can hardly
be told from the real thing. Some of
my colleagues led me to think this
has already been achieved.” He
shrugged skinny shoulders. "No. I’m
too busy. Later, perhaps.”

The busyness consisted in breaking
out of the Astronautical Department,
a notorious dead-end street into
which nervous superiors had maneu-
vered him. And having done so, he
was at once preoccupied with some-
thing else. There had never been
time. You had to run pretty fast just
to stay where you were.

How many people nowadays had
read "Alice”? he wondered.

But the foot often did pain him.
He stopped to let the throbbing ease.

"Are you all right, sir?” asked
Iyeyasu.

Svoboda looked at the gray-clad
giant and smiled. His other six
guards were nonentities, the usual
efficient impersonal killing machines.
Iyeyasu did not pack a gun; he was a
karate man, and he could reach into
your rib cage and pull your lungs out
if you displeased Svoboda.

"I’ll do,” said the Commissioner
of Psychologies. "Don’t inquire ex-
actly what I’ll do, but there must be
something.”

Iyeyasu offered an arm and his
master leaned on it. The contrast was
ridiculous. Svoboda ’Stood barely one
hundred fifty centimeters tall, with a
hairless dome of skull and a face all
dark wrinkles and scimitar nose. His
childish frame was gaudy in a cloak
like fire, iridescent high-collared
tunic, and deep-blue trousers cut in
the latest bell-bottomed style. Where-
as the Okinawan wore gray, and had
a shoulder-length black mane and
hands deformed by a lifetime’s crack-
ing bricks and punching through
boards.

Svoboda fumbled with yellow-
stained fingers after a cigarette. He
stood on a landing terrace, immensely
high up. Below was none of the park-
scape which most Commissioners
chose for their buildings; Svoboda
had put his departmental tower in the
same city which spawned^ him. It
stretched under his feet, as far as he
could gaze through air-borne filth.
But past the floating docks, on the
world’s very eastern edge, he could
see a mercury gleam that was the
open Atlantic.

Dusk was creeping over the- plan-
et, spires etched themselves black
across a surly red sundown. Highlevel
walls and streets began to glow. Low-
level was a darkness beneath, and a
muted unending growl of belt.ways,
generators, autofactories, sparks to
show a window waking to life or a
pedicar headlamp or the flashes of
men going in cudgel-armed parties
for fear of the Brotherhood.

Svoboda drew smoke through his
nostrils. His eyes wandered past the

ASTOUNDING' SCIENCE FICTION

aircar, which had borne him here
from his oceanic house, to the sky.
Venus stood forth, white against
royal blue. He sighed and gestured at
it. "Do you know,” he said, "I’m
almost glad the colony there has been
discontinued. Not because it wasn't
paying for itself, but for a better
reason.”

"What is that, sir?” Iyeyasu sensed
that the commissioner wanted to talk.
They had been together for many
years.

“Now there’s one place you can go
to get away from humankind.”

"Venus air is no good, sir. You
can go to the stars and get away, and
not wear armor.”

"But nine years in deepsleep to the
nearest star. A bit extreme for a
vacation.”

"Yes, sir.”

"And then the planets you And are
as bad as Venus ... or they’re like
Earth, but not enough like Earth, and
men break their hearts. Come on,
let’s go play at being important.”

Svoboda leaned back onto his
crutch and went quickly over the ter-
race, through an arched portal and
down a long luminous-walled corri-
dor. His guards fanned out, ahead
and behind, their eyes never still;
Iyeyasu stayed close. Not that Svoboda
expected assassins. There was a night
shift here, because Psychologies was
a major fief within the Federation
government, but no one on this floor.

At the hall’s end was a teleconfer-
ence room. Svoboda hobbled to an
easy-chair, Iyeyasu helped him into

ROBIN HOOD’S BARN

it and set a desk in front of him.
Most of the men who looked from
the screens had advisors beside them.
Svoboda was alone, except for his
guards. He had always worked alone.

Premier Selim nodded. Behind his
image was a window opening on
palm trees. "Ah, there you are, Com-
missioner,” he said. "We were just
beginning to wonder.”

”1 apologize for lateness,” said
Svoboda. "As you know, I never
transact business from my home, so
I had to come here for the confer-
ence. Well, a caisson under my house
sprang a leak, the gyrostabilizers fail-
ed, and before I knew what had hap-
pened I was reading the time off a
seasick octopus. It was ten minutes
slow.”

Security Chief Chandra blinked,
opened a bearded mouth to protest,
then nodded. "Ah, you make a joke.
I see. Ha.” He sat in India at sunrise;
but the rulers of Earth were used to
irregular hours.

"Let us begin," said Selim. "We
will dispense with formalities. How-
ever, before we start the business at
hand, is there anything else of ur-
gency?”

"Er — ” Rathjen, the present Com-
missioner of Astronautics, spoke
timidly. He was the weak son of the
late Premier; his father had given
him the post and nobody since had
cared to take it away. "Er, yes, gen-
tlemen, I should again like to raise
the question of repair funds for ... I
mean to say, we have several per-
fectly good spaceships which only
need a few million in repair funds

to, er, reach the stars again. And then
all the astronautical academies, really,
die quality of new recruits is as low
as the quantity. I should think, that
is, if we — Mr. Svoboda especially, it
seems to be in his department — an
intensive propaganda campaign, di-
rected at younger sons of the Guard-
ian families ... or Citizens of profes-
sional status . . . persuading them of
the importance, giving the profession
the, er, the glamor it once had — "
"Please,” interrupted Selim. "An-
other time.”

"I might make a remark, though,”
said Svoboda.

"What?” Novikov of Mines turn-
ed a surprised eye on him. "You are
the one who brought this special
conference about. Do you want to
waste it on irrelevancies ?”

" 'Nothing is irrelevant,’ ” mur-
mured Svoboda.

"What?” said Chandra.

"I was only quoting Anker, the
philosophical father of Constitution-
alism,” Svoboda told him. "Some day
you might try understanding the
things you want to suppress. I have
been assured that it works wonders.”
Chandra flushed with annoyance.
"But I don’t want — ’’ he began, and
decided otherwise.

Selim looked baffled. Rathjen said
plaintively, "You were going to com-
ment on my business, Mr. Svoboda.”
"So I was.” The small man struck
a fresh cigarette and inhaled deeply.
His eyes, a startling electric blue in
the mummy face, leaped from screen
to screen. "Commissioner Novikov
could give you a good reason for the

decay of astronautics: more people
and fewer resources every day. We
can no more afford interstellar ex-
ploration than we can afford repre-
sentative government. The vestiges of
both are being eliminated as fast as
the anguish of yourself, and the Con-
stitutionalists, permits. Which I know
is not as fast as some of you gentle-
men would like. But by pushing so-
cial change too hard, the government
provoked the North American Rebel-
lion twenty years ago.” He grinned.
"Therefore we must take the lesson
to heart and not goad the Astronauti-
cal Department into revolt. It is easi-
er to operate a few spaceships for a
few more generations than to storm
barricades of filing cabinets manned
by desperate bureaucrats Waving the
bloody flag in triplicate. But you on
your side must not expect us to ex-
pand, or even maintain, your fleet.”

"Mr. Svoboda!” gasped Rathjen.

Selim cleared his throat. "We all
know the Psychologies Commission-
er’s sense of humor,” he said ponder-
ously. "But since he has mentioned
the Constitutionalists, I trust he
means to proceed to our real busi-
ness.”

The dozen faces turned upon Svo-
boda and did not let go. He veiled
his own stare in smoke and answered,
"Very well. I daresay Commissioner-
baiting is a cruel sport, and we’d all
do better to pick good-looking Citi-
zen girls off the streets for several
weeks of Special Instruction." Now
Larkin of Pelagiculture was the one
who glared. "Perhaps you aren’t all

ASTOUNDING SCIENCE FICTION

familiar with the issue on hand. I’ve
submitted a special report on the
Constitutionalists to Premier Selim,
Mr. Chandra, and the Commandant
of North America. It proved so con-
troversial that the whole Guardian
Commission has been asked to debate
it.”

He nodded at Selim. The Premier’s
harsh gray face looked a bit startled;
it was almost as if Svoboda had given
him permission to go ahead. He har-
rumphed, glanced at the paper on his
desk, and said:

"The trouble is, the Constitutional-
ists are not a political group. If they
were, we could round them up to-
morrow. They are not even formally
organized, and there are all shades of
agreement among them. It's a philos-
ophy.”

"Bad!” murmured Svoboda. "Phi-
losophies only rationalize emotional
attitudes. The very name of this one
is a Freudian slip.”

"What’s that?” asked Novikov.

"You ought to know,” said Svo-
boda sweetly. "You’re rather an ex-
pert. To continue, though. Officially,
the name ’Constitutionalism’ only re-
fers to an attitude toward the physi-
cal universe, an advocacy of basing
thought patterns on the constitution
of reality. But I grew up here, where
half the population still speaks Eng-
lish. And in English, that word Con-
stitution is loaded ! The North Amer-
ican insurrection was brought on
when the Federation government per-
sistently and flagrantly violated — not
the spirit of their poor old much-
amended Constitution; they were al-

ROBIN HOOD’S BARN

ways good at that themselves — but
the letter of it.”

"I know that much,” said Chandra.
"Don’t think I haven’t investigated
these philosophers, as you call them.
I know that many were in the revolt,
or had fathers who were. But they
aren’t dangerous. They may grumble
to themselves, but as a class they’re
not doing so badly. They’ve no rea-
son to start another futile uprising.”
He shrugged. "Actually, most of
them must be intelligent enough to
see that that bill of rights or what-
ever it was simply doesn’t work when
there are half a billion people on
their continent, eighty per cent illit-
erate.”

"What are they, anyway?” asked
Dilolo of Agriculture.

"Mostly North American,” said
Svoboda. "I mean of the old stock,
not the more recent immigrants. But
their doctrines are spreading through
the educated Citizens all oyer the
world. I imagine if you quizzed,
you’d find a fourth of the literate
population, rather more than that
among scientists and technicians, in
substantial agreement with Constitu-
tionalist doctrine. Though, of course,
they wouldn’t think of themselves
under that name, usually.”

"In other words,” said Chandra,
"it’s not just another new religion.
Not for the yuts. Nor for Guardians,
as a rule" — he gave Svoboda a . lin-
gering glance — "or top-level Citi-
zens. So I agree it merited investiga-
tion. But I found Constitutionalism
appealed to the hard-working, pros-
perous-but-not-rich man: the sober,

solid type, who has won a little more
status than his father and hopes his
son may have just a little more than
himself. Such people aren’t revolu-
tionaries.”

"And yet,” said Svoboda, "Con-
stitutionalism is becoming a great
deal stronger than you would expect
from the small number of formal
adherents."

"How?" asked Larkin.

"You leave your engineers’ daugh-
ters alone, don’t you?” said Svoboda.

"What has that ... I mean, ex-
plain yourself before I lodge a criti-
cism!’’

Svoboda grinned. He could break
Larkin any time he chose. "The
Guardians have the power,” he said,
"but what’s left of Earth’s middle
class has the influence. There’s a dis-
tinction. The masses don’t try to imi-
tate the Guardians, or really listen to
us; the gap is too great. Their natural
leaders are the lower-middle-class
Citizenry. As for us, we may decree
the irrigation of Morocco, and round
up a million convicts to dig canals
and die; but only if the upper-middle-
class specialist has assured us it’s fea-
sible. He probably advised it in the
first place!

"The trouble with Constitutional-
ism is, it’s all too likely to give this
middle class an awareness of their
potential power, and thereby start
them agitating for a corresponding
voice in the government. Which
could be more than a little bit lethal
to us.”

There was a pause. Svoboda finish-

ed his cigarette and struck another.
He felt the air wheeze in his throat.
All the world’s biomedics couldn’t
make up the abuse he visited on
lungs and bronchial tubes. But what
else was there to do? he thought
somewhere in a private darkness.

Selim said, "This is not a question
of personal menace, gentlemen. But
the Psychologies Commissioner has
persuaded me that if we care about
our children and grandchildren, we
must think seriously on this matter."

"You don’t mean to arrest all the
Constitutionalists?” asked Larkin,
alarmed. "But you can’t do that! I
know how many of my key technical
personnel are ... I mean, it could be
a disaster to every pelagic city on
Earth!”

"You see?” smiled Svoboda. He
shook his head. "No, no. Besides
such practical, immediate difficulties,
mass arrests involve a danger of pro-
voking new conspiracies to overthrow
the Federation. I’m not that stupid,
my friends. I propose to undermine
the Constitutionalist movement, not
batter at it.”

"But see here,” objected Chandra,
"if it’s a simple question of a prop-
aganda campaign, you don’t need all
of us to — ”

"More than propaganda. I want to
close the Constitutionalist schools.
Never mind the adults; it’s the next
generation that we’re worried about
anyway.”

"You wouldn’t let their brats into
our schools, would you?” gasped
Dilolo.

"I assure you, they don’t have
ASTOUNDING SCIENCE FICTION

vermin,” said Svoboda. "Of course,
they might be infected with a little
originality. But no, I’m not that dras-
tic. However, my idea is radical
enough to need full Commission ap-
proval. It involves reviving the old
concept of free compulsory educa-
tion.”

After the hubbub had faded, which
it did because he sat and ignored it,
he went on: "Oh, modified, to be
sure. I don’t plan to rope in the
hopeless seventy-five per cent of the
population. Let them go their merry
way. We can rig admission standards
to keep them out, easily enough.
What I do want is a decree that all
basic education will be financed by
tlie government and must meet offi-
cial requirements. Which means my
requirements. I'll leave the appren-
tice cc-nters, academies, monasteries,

and other useful or harmless institu-
tions alone. But the schools maintain-
ed according to Constitutionalist
principles will be found to have a
deplorably low academic level. I’ll
fire their teachers and put in some
good loyal hacks and some good loyal
propaganda.”

"There’ll be trouble,” warned
Dilolo.

"Yes. But not too much. Of course
the parents will object. But what can
they say? Here the state, in a sudden
gush of benevolence, is lifting the
burden of school costs off their shoul-
ders — never mind where the taxes
come from — and making sure that
their children will be properly taught
and properly adjusted to society. If
they want to instill their funny little
beliefs in addition, why, they can
do it in the evenings and on holi-
days.”

ROBIN HOOD’S BARN

"Ha!” Chandra laughed. "A lot of
good that will do."

"Just so,'/ agreed Svoboda. "A
philosophy has to be lived; you can’t
acquire it in an hour a day from a
weary father who lectures you while
you’d rather be out playing ball. Your
non-Constitutionalist classmates are
going to ridicule your oddities. And
at the same time, the parents will
scarcely be able to stir up popular
support. This simply isn’t the kind
of issue which brings on revolutions.
We will, almost literally, kill Consti-
tutionalism in its cradle.”

"You haven’t yet proven that it’s
worth the trouble of killing,” said
Novikov.

Larkin put in vindictively: ”1
know why it is. Because Mr. Svo-
boda’s only son is a Constitutionalist,
that’s the reason. Because they broke
up over the issue ten years ago and
haven’t spoken since!"

Svoboda’ s eyes turned quite pale.
He held them on Larkin for a very
long time. Finally Larkin squirmed,
twisted a pencil in his fingers, looked
away, looked back, and wiped sweat
off his face.

Svoboda continued to stare. It
grew very still in the room — in all
the rooms.

At the end, Svoboda sighed. "I
shall lay the detailed facts and analy-
sis before you, gentlemen,” he said.
"I shall prove that Constitutionalism
has the seeds of social change in it:
radical change. Do you want' the
World Wars back again? Or even a
bourgeoisie strong enough to try for
a voice in government? That sounds

less dramatic, but I assure you, the
Guardians will be killed just as dead.
Now, in order to prove my conten-
tion, I shall begin with — ”

The address which Theron Wolfe
had given turned out to be on the
fiftieth floor in a district once proud.
Joshua Coffin could remember almost
a century back, how the skytown had
reared alone among trees and gar-
dens, and only a dun cloud in the
east bespoke the city. But now the
city had engulfed this tower with
mean plastic shells of tenement. In
another generation, this would be
Lowlevel.

"However," said Wolfe, ”1 have
lived here all my life, and gotten a
sentimental attachment to the place.”

”1 beg your pardon?” Coffin was
startled.

"It might be hard for a spaceman
to realize.” Wolfe smiled. "Or for
most better-to-do Citizens, as far as
that goes. They are even more no-
madic than you, First Officer. Gener-
ally you have to be of Guardian fam-
ily, with an estate, or one of the
nameless mass too poor to move any-
where, to strike roots nowadays. But
I am a middle-class exception." He
stroked his beard and added after
a moment, sardonically: "Besides
which, it would be hard to find a
comparable apartment. You must re-
alize that Earth’s population has dou-
bled since you left.”

"I know,” said Coffin. It emerged
harsher than he had intended.

"But come in.” Wolfe took his
arm and led him off the terrace. They

ASTOUNDING SCIENCE FICTION

entered a living room archaic with
broad windows, solid furniture, pan-
eling which might be actual wood,
shelves of books both folio and
micro, a few age-cracked oil paint-
ings. The merchant’s wife, plain and
fiftyish, bowed to her guest and went
back to the kitchen. She actually
cooked her own fopd ? Coffin was ir-
rationally touched.

"Please sit down.” Wolfe waved
a hand at a worn, ugly chair — an
antique, but highly functional. Unless
of course you prefer the modern fash-
ion of sitting cross-legged on a rug.
Even Guardians are beginning to
think it’s stylish.” Horsehair rustled
under Coffin’s weight. "Smoke?”

"No, thank you.” The spaceman
realized his tone had been too prim,
and tried to rationalize. '.'It’s not a
common habit in my profession.
Mass-ratio, you know, approximately
nine to one for an interstellar jour-
ney — ■” He stopped. "Pardon me. I
did not mean to talk shop.”

"Oh, but I would much prefer you
did. That’s why I invited you here,
after catching your lecture.” Wolfe
took a cigarillo from the box. "How
about a drink?”

Coffin accepted a small glass of
dry sherry. The genuine article,
doubtless fabulously expensive. In a
way it was a shame to waste it on his
unappreciative palate.

He looked at Wolfe. The merchant
was big, plump, still hearty in mid-
dle age, with a neat gray Vandyke
on an unusual broad face. The space
between his eyes gave him a curious
withdrawn look, as if a part of him

Robin hood’s barn

always stood aside from the world
and watched. He wore a formal robe
over dress pajamas, but his feet
were bare in slippers. The colors
were as sober as the rest of this room.

Wolfe sat down, sipped, rolled
smoke around his mouth, and said,
"A shame so few people heard your
lecture, First Officer. It was most in-
teresting.”

"I am not a very good speaker,"
said Coffin, correctly enough.

"The subject matter, though. To
think, a planet of Epsilon Eridani
where men can live!”

Coffin felt a thickness of anger.
Before he could stop himself, his
tongue threw out: "You must be the
thousandth person who has said I
was at Epsilon Eridani. For your in-
formation, Epsilon is a miserable
dwarf of no use to any Christian. It
is e Eridani which the Ranger visited.
I thought you heard my lecture.”
"Slip of my mind. Sorry.” Wolfe
was more urbane than contrite.

Coffin bowed his head, hot-faced.
"No. I beg your pardon, sir. I was
heedless and ill-mannered.”

"Forget it,” said Wolfe. "I believe
I understand why you’re so tense.
How long were you away, now?
Eighty-seven years, of which eighty-
two, less watches, were spent in deep-
sleep. It was the climax of your ca-
reer, an experience such as it is grant-
ed few men to have. Then you came
back. Your home was gone, your kin-
folk scattered, the people and mores
changed almost beyond recognition.
Worst of all, there’s hardly a soul
who cares. You offer them a new

world, and they yawn at yon when
they do not jeer:”

Coffin sat quiet a while, twirling
the sherry glass in his lingers. He was
a long man with a jagged Yankee
face under hair just starting to be
grizzledr He still affected snug-fitting
tunic and trousers of black, buttons
with an American eagle, everything
knife-creased, though even in the
space service the uniform was now
ludicrously archaic.

'.'Well,” he said at last, struggling
for words, "I expected a ... a dif-
ferent world . . . when I came back.
Of course. But somehow I did not
expect it would be different in this
fashion. We, my companions and I,
like all interstellar spacemen, we
knew we had chosen a special way
of life. But it was in the service of
man, which is the service of God.
We expected to return to the Society,
at least, our own spacemen’s nation
within all nations — do you under-
stand that?’’ It ripped from him:
"But the Society was so dwindled!”

Wolfe nodded; "Not many people
realize it yet, First Officer,” he said,
"but space travel is dying.”

"Why?” mumbled Coffin. “What
have we done, that this is visited up-
on us?”

"We have eaten up our, resources
with the same abandon with which
we have increased our numbers.
Therefore the Four Horsemen have
ridden out. Exploration is becoming
too costly.”

"But . . . substitutes . . . new alloys,
aluminum must still be abundant . . .

thermonuclear energy, thermionic
conversion, dielectric storage — ”

"Oh, yes,” said Wolfe. He blew
a smoke ring. "But it’s not enough.
Theoretically, we can supply unlimit-
ed amounts of fusion power. But
there is so little for that power to
work on. Light metal and plastics can
only do so much, then you need steel.
Machines need oil. Well, lean ores
can be processed, organics can be
synthesized, and so forth. But all at
a steadily rising cost. And what you
do produce has to be spread thinner
every year: more people. Of course,
there’s no longer any pretense at
equal sharing. If we tried that, we’d
all be down on Lowlevel. Instead,
the rich get richer and the poor get
poorer. The usual historic pattern,
Egypt, Babylon, Rome, India, China,
now all Earth. So the conscientious
Guardian — there are more than you
might think — doesn’t feel right about
spending millions, which could be
used to alleviate quite a bit of Citizen
misery, on mere discovery. And the
non-conscientious Guardian doesn’t
give a damn.”

Coffin was startled. He looked
hard at the other.

"I have heard mention of some-
thing called, er, Constitutionalism,”
he said slowly. "Do you subscribe to
the doctrine?”

"More or less," admitted Wolfe.
"Though that’s a rather gaudy name
for a very simple thing, an ideal of
seeing the world as it actually is and
behaving accordingly. Anker never
called his system anything in particu-
lar. Laird was a rather gaudy man,

ASTOUNDING SCIENCE FICTION

an d — ” He paused, smoked with the
care of a thrifty person remembering
what tobacco cost, and went on:
"You're probably as much of a Con-
stitutionalist, First Officer, as the av-
erage among us.”

"I beg your pardon, no. It seems,
from what I've heard, to be a hea . . .
a Gentile belief.”

"But it isn’t a belief. That’s the
whole point. We're among the last
holdouts against a rising tide of
Faith. The masses, and lately even a
few upper-levels, turn via mysticism
and marijuana toward a more toler-
able pseudo-existence. I prefer to in-
habit the objective universe.”

Coffin grimaced. He had seen
abominations. There was a smiling
idol where his father’s white church
had overlooked the sea.

He changed the subject: "But
don’t the leaders, at least, understand
that space travel is the only way to
escape the economic trap? If Earth is
growing exhausted, we have an entire
galaxy of planets.”

"That doesn’t help Earth much,”
said Wolfe. "Consider the problem
of hauling minerals nine years from
the nearest star, with a nine-to-one
mass ratio. Or how much bottom do
you think it would take to drain off
population faster than it could be re-
placed here at home? No, no, even
interplanetary exploitation has about
stopped paying for itself. As for
colonizing — Rustum is the first planet
yet found where men could live with-
out special apparatus.”

Coffin said, driven by a reluctant

robin hood’s barn

honesty: "As I explained, sir, a good
deal of equipment would still be
needed. With one or two exceptions,
we didn’t find any native life forms
in five years of study which can be
eaten by man. And then, of course,
the gravity is wearing, and only the
highlands are really habitable.”

"There you are,” said Wolfe.

"But it could be done!” exploded
Coffin. "My lectures have outlined
the methods. And it would keep the
tradition alive — knowing that there
was a colony, a place where a man
could still find elbow room — and we
could keep looking for still better
planets.”

"We won’t,” said Wolfe bluntly.
"There’s another trouble with your
emigration idea. The wage slave Citi-
zen — sometimes, on Lowlevel, an
actual slave, in spite of fancy double-
talk about contract — he can’t afford
such an expensive passage. And why
should the state pay his fare? It won’t
lessen the number of mouths at
home; it will . only make fhe state that
much poorer, in its efforts to fill
those mouths. Nor is the Citizen him-
self interested, as a rule. Do you
think an ignorant, superstitious child
of crowds and walls and machines
can survive, plowing soil on an emp-
ty world under an alien sun ? Do you
think he even wants to try?” He
spread his hands. "As for the liter-
ate, technically minded class of peo-
ple, they have it pretty good so far.
Why should they uproot?”

"I am becoming aware of all this,”
nodded Coffin.

Wolfe’s wide face tightened into

a grin. "Another thing, First Officer.
Suppose, somehow, this colony were
established. Would you want to go
live there yourself?”

"Good heavens, no!’' Coffin jerked
upright.

"Why not?"

"Because . . . because I’m a space-
man. And there wouldn’t be any
spaceships operating out of Rustum
for generations. The colonists will,
uh, would have too much else to do.”

"Exactly. And I am a dealer in
fabrics. And my neighbor Israel Stein
thinks space travel is a glorious thing,
but he teaches music. My friend John
O’Malley is a protein chemist, who
would certainly be useful as such on
a new planet, and he goes skindiving
and blew several years’ savings once
on a hunting trip — but his wife has
ambitions for their children. And
there are others who love their com-
fort, such as it is; or are afraid; or
feel too deeply rooted; or name your
own reason. All interested, all sym-
pathetic, but let someone else do it.
The people you could get who are
ready, willing, and able to go, can’t
finance the trip. Q. E. D.”

"So it seems.” Coffin stared into
his empty glass.

"But I’ve seen all this for myself,”
he said after a while, his words
wrenched and slow. "I realize my
profession is on the way out. And
it’s the only profession open to me.
More important, to my children, if I
ever have any; for of course I would
have to marry within the Society, I
just can’t find a decent home life any-
where else — ’’ He stopped.

"I know,” gibed Wolfe, not very
sharply. "You beg my pardon. Nev-
er mind. Times change, and you are
from out of time. I shall not dwell
upon the fact that my older daughter
is a Guardian’s mistress, nor will I
raise your hair by remarking that this
does not trouble me in the least. Be-
cause there are some rather more im-
portant changes in recent months, of
which I do disapprove with all my
soul, and they are the main reason I
invited you here tonight.”

Coffin looked up. "What?”

Wolfe cocked his head. "I believe
dinner is about ready. Come, First
Officer.” He took his guest’s arm
again. "Your lectures have been ad-
mirably dry and factual, but what I
would like from you now is a still
more detailed description. Just what
Rustum is like, and what equipment
Would be needed to establish a colony
of what minimum size, and the cost
. . . everything. I assume you would
rather talk that kind of shop than
make polite noises at me. Well,
here’s your chance!”

Even among his admirers, there
were many people who would have
been astonished to learn that Torvald
Anker was still alive. They knew he
was born a century ago, that he had
never been rich enough to afford
elaborate medical care — for he would
give a pauper boy with intelligence
the same right to sit at his feet and
question him that he refused a
wealthy young dullard who offered
good fees. So it seemed natural that
he would have died.

ASTOUNDING SCIENCE FICTION

His writings bore out that impres-
sion. The magnum opus, which men
were still debating, was now sixty
years old. The last book, a small vol-
ume of essays, was published twenty
years back, and even it had been a
gentle anachronism, the style as easy
and the thought as careful as if Earth
still held a few countries where
speech was free. Since then he had
lived in a tiny house on the Sognef-
jord, avoiding the publicity which he
had never courted. The district was
a fragment of an older world, where
a sparse population still lived largely
by individual effort, men spoke with
deliberateness in a beautiful language
and cared that their children be edu-
cated. Anker taught elementary
school for a few hours a day, re-
ceived food and housekeeping in re-
turn, and divided the rest of his time
between a garden and a final book.

On a morning in early summer,
when dew still lay on his roses, he
entered the cottage. It was centuries
old, with a red tile roof above ivied
walls. From here a man could look
down hundreds of meters, wind, sun,
and stone, a patch of wildflowers, a
single tree, until he saw cliff and
cloud reflected in the fjord. Some-
times a gull sailed just in front of
the study window.

Anker sat down at his desk. For a
moment he rested, chin in hand. It
had been a long climb up from the
water’s edge, and he had often been
forced to stop for breath. His tall
thin body had grown so frail he
sometimes thought he could feel the
sunshine streaming through. But it

ROBIN hood’s barn

needed little sleep, and when the
light nights came — the sky was like
white roses, someone had written —
he must go down to the fjord.

Well. He sighed, brushed an un-
ruly lock off his forehead, and
swiveled the ’writer into position.
The letter from young Hirayama
was first on the correspondence pile.
It was not very well written, but it
had been written, with an immense
will to say, and that was what count-
ed. Anker was not opposed to the
visiphone per se, but quite apart from
avoiding interruptions of thought, he
had a duty not to own one. The
young men must be forced to write if
they wanted contact with him, be-
cause writing was as essential to the
orderly training of the mind as con-
versation, perhaps more so, and else-
where it was a vanishing skill.

His fingers tapped the keys.

My dear Saburo,

Thank you for your confidence in me.
I fear it is .misplaced. My reputation,
such as it is, has been gained largely
- by imitating Socrates. The longer 1
think upon matters, the more I believe
that the touchstone is the epistemolog-
ical question. How do we know what
we know, and what is it we know?
From this query a degree of enlight-
enment sometimes .comes. But I am
not at all certain that enlightenment is
very similar to wisdom.

However, I shall try to give posi-
tive answers to the problems you bring
me, keeping always - in mind that the
only real answers are those a person
finds for himself. But remember that
these are the opinions of one who has
long shut himself away from modern
reality. I think it has afforded a gain

ASTOUNDING SCIENCE FICTION

in perspective, but I look out of an
old reality, now becoming quite alien,
out of salt water and rowan trees and
huge winter nights, on the active hu-
man world. Surely you are far more
competent to handle its practical de-
tails than I.

First, then, I do not recommend
that you devote your life to philoso-
phy, or to basic scientific research.
"The time is out of joint,” and there
would be nothing for you but a sterile
repetition of what other men have
said and done. In this judgment I am
guided by no Spenglerian mystique of
an aged civilization, but by the very
hardheaded observation of Donne that
no man is an island. Be you never so
gifted, you cannot work alone; the
cross-fertilization of equally interested
colleagues, the whole atmosphere,
must be there, or originality becomes
impossible. Doubtless the biological
potential of a Periclean era or a Ren-
aissance always exists: genetic statis-
tics guarantee that. But social t condi-
tions must then determine the extent
to which this potential is realized,
and even' the major forms of expres-
sion it takes. I hope I am hot being
a sour old man in thinking that the
present age is as universally barren as
the Rome of Commodus. These things
happen.

But — second — you ask implicitly if
something can be done to change this.
In all frankness, I have never believed
so. There may be theoretical ways,
just as it is theoretically possible to
turn winter into summer by hastening
the planet along its orbit. But ^practi-
cal limitations intervene; and it is just
as well that mortal men with mortal
scope do not have the power of
destiny.

You seem to think that I was, on
the contrary, once active in politics, a
founder of the Constitutionalist
movement. This is a popular fallacy;
I had nothing to do with it, and never
even met Laird. (He is rather a mys-

ROBIN HOOD’S BARN

terious figure anyway, I gather, sud-
denly appearing without any back-
ground — presumably of Lowlevel
birth, self-educated — and vanishing as
completely after a decade. Murdered,
perhaps?) He was an enthusiastic and
understanding reader of mine, but
made no attempt at personal contact.
He said he was only applying my
principles to a concrete situation. His
phenomenal rise came after the sup-
pression of the North American re-
volt, when a crushed, despairing socio-
economic-ethnic group turned toward
a leader who put their inchoate beliefs
into sharp focus and who offered them
a practical set of rules to live by. Ac-
tually these rules amounted to little
more than the traditional virtues of
patience, courage, thrift, industry,
with an interwoven scientific rational-
ism, but if it has heartened them in
their comeback I am honored that
Laird quoted - me.

However, I see no long-range hope
for them. The tide is ebbing too
strongly. And now, I hear, the masters
have decided to eliminate Constitution-
alism as a danger to the status quo.
It is being very cleverly done, in the
guise of free education; but it amounts
to absorbing ihe next generation into
the common ruck.- Let me be grateful
that this poor district does not qualify
for a public school.

If we cannot refof® society, . then,
can we save ourselves ? There is a
traditional way. As the Did Americans
would have put it: Get the hell out!
The monastic orders ' of the post-
Roman past, or of feudal China, India,
and Japan, did this, in effect; and I
note that their latter-day equivalent is
becoming more prominent every dec-
ade. It has been my own solution too,
though I prefer being an anchorite to
a cenobite. The advice grieves me,
Saburo, but this may be the only an-
swer for you.

There was once another way out,
Christian leaving the City of Destruc-

tion in the most literal sense. Ameri-
can history is full of examples, Puri-
tan, Quaker, Catholic, Mormon. And
today the stars are a new and more
splendid America.

But I fear this is not the right cen-
tury. The pioneering misfits I speak of
departed from . a vigorous society
which took expansion for granted. It
- is not characteristic of moribund cul-
tures to export their radicals. The
radicals themselves have little interest
in departure. I would personally love
to end my days on. this new planet
Rustum, deep though my roots are
here, but who would come with me?

Therefore, Saburo, we can only en-
dure, until

Anker’s hands fell off the keys.
The pain through his breast seemed
to rip it open.

He stood up, somehow, clawing
for air. Or his body did. His mind
was suddenly remote, knowing that it
had perhaps a minute to look down
upon the fjord and out to the sky.
And he said to himself, with a
strange thankful joy, the promise
three thousand years old, Odysseus,
death will come to you out of the
sea, death in his gentlest guise.

Everybody knew Jan Svoboda was
estranged from his father the Com-
missioner. But no orders for his ar-
rest, or even his harassment, had ever
come, so presumably the parent re-
tained a certain affection -for the child
and a reconciliation was possible.
This would in fact, if not officially,
re-elevate the young Citizen to
Guardian status. Therefore it was ad-
visable to stay on the right side of
him.

And thus Jan Svoboda could never
be sure how much of his rise was due
to himself and how much to some
would-be sycophant in the Oceanic
Minerals office. With few exceptions, j
he could not even be sure how many;
of his friends really meant it. Norj
did his attempts to find out, or his]
occasional blunt questions, lead any-|
where. Certainly not ! He became aj
bitter man. , j

His father's educational decree]
provoked a tirade from him which?
brought envy to the eyes of his fel-]
low Constitutionalists. They- wouldj
have liked to make those remarks, but ;
they weren't Commissioner’s sons.;
Their own formal appeals were de-
nied, and they settled down to make-
file best of a foul situation. After all,
they were a literate, well-to-do, prag%
matically oriented class; they could
give supplemental instruction at
home, or even hire tutors.

The new system was established. A
year passed. .

On a gusty fall evening, Jan Svo-i
boda set his aircar down at home.
Great gray waves marched from the.
west and roared among the house
caissons.

Their spume and spindrift went
over the roof. The sky streamed
past, low and ragged. Visibility was ;
so narrow that he could see no other
houses. at all.

Which suited him, he thought. A
sea dwelling was expensive, and*
though well paid, he could only af-
ford this one because a Constitution-
alist normally led a quiet life. Even
so, he felt the pinch. But where else

ASTOUNDING SCIENCE FICTION

could a man live these- days without
a horizon cluttered by oafs?

His car touched wheels to the main
deck, the garage door opened for him
and closed behind, he got out into
an insulated quietness. Faintly came
a whisper that was gymbal mount-
ings, gyrostabilizers, air conditioner,
power plant; louder were the hoot of
wind and the ocean where it brawled.
He had a wish to step out and take
the cold wet air in his face. Those
idiots in the office today, couldn't
they see that the ion exchange system
now in use Was inefficient- at tropical
concentrations, and a little basic re-
search could produce a design which
— Svoboda hit the car with a knotted
fist. It was no use. There was nothing
to fight, you might as well try to
catch water in a net.

He sighed and entered the kitchep.
He was a medium-sized, rather slen-
der man, dark, with high cheekbones
and hooked nose and a deep, prema-
ture wrinkle between his eyes.

"Hullo, darling.” His wife gave
him a kiss. "Ouch,” she added.
"That was like bussing a brick wall.
What happened?”

"The usual,” grunted Svoboda. He
heard startling silence. "Where’ re the
kids?” .

"Jocelyn wanted to stay ashore
overnight with a girl friend. I said
it was all right.”

Svoboda stopped. He stared at her
for a long time. Judith took a back-
ward step. "Why, what’s the mat-
ter?” she asked.

"What’s the matter?” His voice
rose as he spoke. "Do you realize we

Robin hood’s barn

broke off yesterday in the middle of
the conformal-mapping theorem ?
She just can't get it through her head.
No wonder, with her whole day
given to Homemaking or some such
ridiculous thing, as if her only choice
in life fell between being a rich
man’s, toy and a poor man’s slave.
And how do you expect she’ll ever be
able to think without knowing how
language functions? Great horny
toads! By tomorrow night she'll have
forgotten everything I said!”

Svoboda grew aware he was shout-
ing. He stopped, swallowed, and con-
sidered the situation objectively. "All
right,” he said. "I’m sorry. You did
not know, I guess.”

"Perhaps I .did,” said Judith slow-

ty-

"What?" Svoboda, who had been
leaving the kitchen, spun on his heel.

She braced herself and told him:
"There’s more to life than just dis-
cipline. You can’t expect healthy
youngsters to go to the mainland four
days a week, six hours a day, meeting
other children who live there, hear-
ing games planned, excursions, par-
ties — after school — and then return
here, where there isn’t anyone their
age, nothing but your lessons and
your books.”

"We go sailing,” he argued, taken
aback. "Diving, fishing . . . visiting,
even. The Lochabers have a boy
David’s age, and the de Smets — ”

"Somebody they meet once a
month!” interrupted Judith. "Their
friends are on the mainland!”

"Fine lot of friends,” snapped

Svoboda. "Who’s Jocelyn staying
with?" She hesitated. "Well?”

"She didn’t say.”

He nodded, stiff in the neck mus-
cles. "I thought so. You see, we’re
old fogies. We wouldn’t approve of
a fourteen-year-old girl at a harmless
little marijuana party. If that’s all
they have planned.” He shouted
again: "Well, this is the last time it
happens. Any more such requests are
to be turned down flat, and hell take
their precious social lives!”

Judith caught a shaky lower lip be-
tween her teeth. She looked away
from him and said, "It was so differ-
ent last year.”

"Of course it was. We had our
own schools then. No need for extra
instruction, because the right things
were taught during the regular hours.
No need to worry about their school-
mates — all our kind, with decent be-
havior and sensible prestige symbols.
But now, what can we do?”

Svoboda passed a hand across his
eyes. His head ached. Judith came
over and rubbed her cheek across his
breast. "Don’t take it so hard, sweet-
heart,” she murmured. "Remember
what Laird always used to say. 'Co-
operate with the inevitable.’ ”

"You’re omitting what he meant
by ’co-operation,’ ’’ replied Svoboda
gloomily. "He meant to use it the
way a judo master uses his oppo-
nent’s attack. We’re forgetting his
advice, all of us are forgetting, now
that he’s gone.”

She held him close for a wordless
minute. The glory came back, he
looked beyond the wall and whisper-

ed, "You don’t know what it was
like, coming into the movement as
late as you did. I was just a child
myself, and my father jeered at him
all the time, but I saw the man speak,
both video and live, and even then
I knew. Not that I really understood.
But I knew here was a tall man and
a beauitful voice, talking about hope
to people whose kin lay dead in
bombed-out houses. I think after-
ward, when I began to study the
theory of it, I was trying to get back
the feeling I had had then . . . And
my father could do nothing but make
fun of it!” He stopped. "I'm sorry,
dear. You’ve heard this from me
often enough.”

"And Laird is dead,” she sighed.

He blurted in reborn anger what
he had never told her before: "Mur-
dered. I’m sure of it. Not just some
chance Brother on a dark street . . .
no, I got a word here, a hint there,
my father had spoken to Laird pri-
vately, Laird had grown too big . . .
I accused him to his face of having
had Laird done away with. He grin-
ned and did not deny it. That was
when I left him. And now he’s try-
ing to murder Laird’s work!”

He tore free of her and stormed
from the kitchen, through the din-
ing room on his way out. A taste of
the gale might cool the boiling in
him.

On the living room floor, his son
David sat cross-legged, swaying with
half shut eyes.

Svoboda stopped. He was not no-
ticed.

ASTOUNDING SCIENCE FICTION

"What are you doing?” he said at

laS, ITie nine-year-old face turned up
to him, briefly dazed as if wakened
from sleep. "Oh . . . hello, sir.”

"I asked what you were doing,”
rapped Svoboda.

David’s lids drooped. Looking
from beneath them, he had a curious
sly appearance. "Homework,” he
muttered.

"What kind of homework is that?
And since when has that flatheaded
wretch of a teacher made any demand
on your intellect?”

"We’re to practice, sir.”

"Quit evading me!" Svoboda
planted himself above the boy, fists
on hips, and glared down. "Practice
what?”

David’s expression was half muti-
nous, but he seemed to decide on co-
operation. "El, el, elementary attune-
ment,” he said. "Just to get the tech-
nique. It takes years to have the ac-
tual experience.”

"Attunement? Experience?” Svo-
boda stood back. He had again the
sense of trying to net a river.
"Explain yourself. Attunement to
what?”

David flushed. "The Ineffable
All." It was a defiance.

"Now wait,” said Svoboda, fight-
ing for calm. "You’re in a secular
school. By law. You’re not being
taught a religion, are you?” For a
moment, he hoped so. If the govern-
ment ever started favoring one of the
million cults and creeds over another,
it would guarantee trouble — which
might make a wedge for —

Robin hood’s barn

"Oh, no, sir. This is fact. Mr. Tse
explained it all.”

Svoboda sat down beside his son.
"What kind of fact?” he asked.
"Scientific?”

"No. No, not exactly. You told me
yourself, science don’t have all the
answers."

"Doesn’t,” corrected Svoboda me-
chanically. "Agreed. To maintain
that proposition is equivalent to
maintaining that the discovery of
structured data is the sum total of hu-
man experience: which is a self-
evident absurdity.” He felt pleased
at the control in his own voice.
There was some childish misunder-
standing here, which could be cleared
up with sensible talk. Looking down
on the curly brown head, Svoboda
was almost overwhelmed by tender-
ness. He wanted to rumple the boy's
hair and invite him to the sun porch
for a game of catch. However—

"In normal usage,” he explained,
"the word ’fact’ is reserved' for em-
pirical data and well-confirmed
theories. This Ineffable All is an ob-
vious metaphor, and thus has no
place in factual discourse. You. must
mean you’re studying some form of
aesthetics.”

"Oh, no, sir.” David shook his
head vigorously. "It’s true. A higher
truth than science.”

"But then you are speaking of
religion !”

"No, sir. Mr. Tse told us about it,
and all the older kids in his school
are already in, uh, in some degree of
attunement. I mean, by these exer-
cises you not only ap, ap, apprehend

the All but become the All, which
you aren’t every day, I mean — ”

Svoboda leaped back to his feet.
David stared. The father said in a
tone that shook: "What sort of non-
sense is this? What do those words
All and Attunement mean? What
structure has this identification, which
is somehow only an identification on
alternate Thursdays, got? Go on!
You know enough basic semantics to
explain it to me clearly. You can at
least show me where definitions fail
and ostensive experience takes over.
Go on, tell me!”

David sprang up, too. His fists
were clenched at his sides and tears
stood in his eyes. "That don’t mean
anything!" he yelled. "You don't!
Mr. Tse says you don’t! He says all
this playing with words and d-d-defi-
nitions, logic, it’s all a lot of hooey !
He says it’s all down on the material
plane, and the real fact is Attune-
ment and I’m only hindering myself
by studying logic and, and, and the
older kids all laughed at me! I don’t
want to study your old semantics! I
don’t want to! I won’t!”

Svoboda regarded him for an en-
tire minute. Then he strode back
through the kitchen. "I’m going out,”
he said. "Don't wait for me.” The
garage door shut behind him. Mo-
ments afterward, Judith heard his car
take off into the storm.

Theron Wolfe shook his head.
"Tsk-tsk-tsk,” he scolded. “Temper,
temper.”

"Don’t tell me it’s immature to get
angry,” said Jan Svoboda in a dull

voice. "Anker never wrote any such
thing. Laird said once it was nonsanej
not to get angry, in atrocious situa-J
tions." i

"Agreed,” said Wolfe. ”AncU noj
doubt you relieved your glands con-1
siderably by flying to the mainland^
storming into poor little Tse’s one-j
room apartment, and beating him up]
before the eyes of his wife and chil-l
dren. I don’t see that you accomplish-]
ed much else, though. Come on, let’sj
get out of here.” ]

They left the jail. A respectful po-j
liceman bowed them toward Wolfe’s]
car. "Sorry about the misunderstand- 1
ing, sir,” he said. '

"That’s all right,” said Wolfe.’
"You had to arrest him, since he;
wasn’t doing his brawling injljOw-
level and you didn’t know he was;
the Psychologies Commissioner’s]
son.”

Svoboda lifted a tired lip. "But
you did well to call me as he in-
sisted.” , ]

"Do you wish to file any charges
against the Tse person?” asked the
officer. "We’ll take care of him, sir.”
"No,” said Svoboda.

"You might even send him some
flowers,” suggested Wolfe. "He’s on-
ly a hack, executing his orders.”

"He doesn’t have to be a hack,”
clipped Svoboda. "I’m sick of this
whine, ’Don’t blame me, blame the
System.’ There isn’t any system: there
are men, who act in. certain ways.”
Wolfe’s Jovian form preceded
him into the car. The merchant took
the controls and they murmured up
the ramp. Presently they were air-

ASTOUNDING SCIENCE FICTION

borne. It was still night, still windy; phistophelean smile. "Look here,” he

the jeweled web of Highlevel illumi- said, "you were always a hairtrigger

nation stretched thin above the city type, but basically levelheaded. Oth-

darkness; low in the east, a hunch- erwise you wouldn’t be a Constitu-

backed moon sent flickers of light off tionalist. Let’s examine the situation,

a black restless Atlantic. Why do you care what your children

"I had your car picked up and shot become? I mean, naturally you want

a message to Judith,” said Wolfe. them to be happy and so on, but does

"How about staying overnight .with it have to be your kind of happi-

me and taking a holiday tomorrow?” ness?”

"All right.” Svoboda slumped. "Let’s not get into the hedonistic

Wolfe put the autopilot on Cruise, fallacy,” said Svoboda with a weary

offered a cigar, and struck one for sort of annoyance. "I want my kids

himself. Its red glow as he sucked to become the right sort of human

sketched his features upon shadow, adults.”

a goateed Buddha with a faint Me- "In other words, not only individ-

ROBIN hood’s barn

uals, but cultures have an instinct to
survive," said Wolfe. "Very good. I
agree with you. Our particular culture
emphasizes the conscious mind, per-
haps too much for perfect health but
there you are. It’s being swallowed
up in a new culture which exalts a
set of as-yet-undefined subconscious
functions. We’re like the Jewish
Zealots, English Puritans, Russian
Old Believers, all trying to restore
certain basics they felt had been cor-
rupted. (And actually, like them,
creating something altogether new,
but let's not dim that fine fresh pur-
posefulness of yours with too much
analysis.) Also like them, we’re more
and more at odds with the surround-
ing society. At the same time, our
beliefs are becoming popular with a
certain class of people, all over Earth.
This in turn alarms the custodians of
things-as-they-are.

"Well?” said Svoboda.

"Well," said Wolfe, ”1 don’t see
how conflict is to be avoided, and
physical force is still the ultima ratio.
But I don’t advise putting well-mean-
ing little teachers in the hospital.”

Svoboda sat up straight. "You
don’t mean another rebellion?” he
exclaimed.

"Not like the last fiasco,’’ said
Wolfe. "Let’s not end up like the
Old Believers. The Puritan Common-
wealth is the analogy we desire. It’ll
take patience . . . yes, and prudence,
my friend. What we must do is or-
ganize. Not too formally, but we
must be able to act as a group. It
won’t be hard to achieve that much;
you aren’t the only man who resents

what’s being done to his children.
Once organized, we can start making
our weight felt. Boycotts, for in-
stance; bribes to the right officials;
and please don’t look shocked when
I point out that Lowlevel is full of
skilled assassins with very reasonable
fees.”

"I see." Svoboda was calmer now.
"Pressure. Yes. We may be able to
get our schools restored, if nothing
else.”

"Don’t forget," said Wolfe, "pres-
sure provokes counterpressure. If we
act, the government will react, and
then we must react to that. The pos-
sible, even probable end result is
war.”

"What? No!”

"Or a coup d’etat. Most likely civil
war, though. Since a few military and
police personnel already subscribe to
Constitutionalism, and we can hope
to recruit more, we’ve a chance to
win. If we proceed with care. This
can’t be hurried. But ... we might
start quietly caching weapons.”

Again Svoboda was jarred. He had
seen dead men in the streets, when
he was a child. Next time there
might even be the ultimate violence
of the nuclear bomb or the artificial
plague. And how much rebuilding
would be possible afterward, on this
impoverished globe?

"We’ve got to find another way,”
he whispered. "We can’t let it go
that far.”

"We may have to,” said Wolfe.
"We will most certainly have to
threaten to. Or else go under.” He
glanced at the profile beside him. It

ASTOUNDING SCIENCE FICTION

stood sharp against a few stars, al-
ready stiffening with resolution
which, nourished, could become
fanaticism. Wolfe nearly declared
what was really in his mind, but
stopped himself.

Commissioner Svoboda looked at
the clock. "Get out,” he said. "All
of you.”

The guards obeyed in surprise.
Only Iyeyasu remained; that went
without saying. For a moment the big
office was quiet.

"Your son comes now, yes?” asked
the Okinawan.

"In five minutes,” said Svoboda.
"He’ll be prompt, if I know him. To
be sure, men change, and we haven’t
spoken for a good many years.”

He felt a nervous tic in the corner
of his mouth. It wouldn’t stop. The
dwarfish man scrambled from his
chair and limped across to the full-
wall transparency. The towers and
ways shimmered below him, heated,
but winter lay in pale sky and far-
looking frosty sun. A late winter this
year. Svoboda wondered if it would
ever end.

Not that the season mattered,
when your life ran out in offices. But
he would like to see the cherry or-
chard crowning this building bloom
once more. He had never allowed the
roof to be greenhoused. Let’s keep a
little unscientific nature in the world !

"I wonder if that’s why techno-
logical civilization is dying,” he
mused. "It may not be the loss of
resources, or the uncontrolled obses-
sion to reproduce, or the decline of

ROBIN hood’s barn

literacy, or the rise of mysticism, or
any such thing at all. Those may on-
ly be effects, and the real cause be a
collective unconscious revolt against
all this steel and machinery. If we
evolved among forests, do we dare
cut down every tree on Earth?”

Iyeyasu didn’t answer. He was
used to his master's moods. He look-
ed at him with compassionate small
eyes.

"If this be so,” said Svoboda,
"then perhaps my maneuverings have
served no real purpose. But come, we
Practical Men have no time to stop
and think.”

The sardonicism uplifted him. He
went back and sat down behind his
desk and waited, a cigarette between
his fingers.

The door opened for Jan on the
stroke of 0900. Svoboda’s first shock-
ed thought- was Bernice. Oh, God, he
had forgotten how the boy had Ber-
nice’s eyes, and she fifteen years in
the earth. He sat for a moment in an
aloneness that stung.

"Well?” said Jan coldly.

Svoboda braced his thin shoulders.
"Sit down,” he invited.

Jan perched on a chair’s edge and
stared across the desk. He had grown
a lot thinner, his father noticed, and
tense, but the youthful awkwardness
was gone. An uncompromising harsh
face jutted above that plain gray
tunic.

"Smoke?” asked the Commis-
sioner.

"No,” said Jan.

"I hope everything is all right at
home? Your wife? Your children?"

Most men are privileged to see their
own grandchildren. Ah, stop snivel-
ing, you tin pot Machiavelli.

"We are in physical health," said
Jan. His voice was like iron. "You
are a busy man, Commissioner. I
don’t wish to take up your time un-
duly.”

"No, I suppose not.” Svoboda put
another cigarette between his lips, re-
membered he was still holding the
first, and ground it out with needless
violence. Self-control returned, to
parch his tones. "I imagine, when the
question of a conference between my-
self and a representative of your new
Constitutionalist Association first
arose, it seemed most natural for me
to have your president, Mr. Wolfe,
come see me. You may wonder why I
specified you instead, who are only
the engineering delegate on your pol-
icy committee.”

Jan’s mouth tightened. "I hope you
did not plan a sentimental appeal.”

"Oh, no. The fact is, Wolfe and I
have had several discussions.” Svo-
boda chuckled. “Ah-ha. That startled
you, eh? Now if I were determined
to wreck your organization, I would
let you stew over the fact. But the
truth is merely that Wolfe talked to
me on the ’phone, unofficially, and
sounded me out on various points. Of
course, that entailed me sounding
him out too, but we came to a tacit
agreement.”

Svoboda leaned on his elbows,
puffed smoke, and went on: "It’s
been several months since your or-
ganization was formed. Constitution-
alists have been joining it by the

thousands, all over the world. What
they want from it varies — some, a
spokesman for their grievances; some,
doubtless, a revolutionary under-
ground; the majority probably have
no more than vague unformulated
expectations of help. Since you have
not yet adopted any clear-cut pro-
gram, you have disappointed no one.
But now your committee must soon
come up with a definite plan of ac-
tion, or see the outfit revert to jelly."

"We will,” said Jan. "Since you
know so much, I can tell you what
our first step will be. We’re going to
make a formal petition for repeal of
your so-called school decree. We’re
not without influence on several of
our fellow Commissioners. If the pe-
tition is denied, we will call for
stronger measures.”

"The economic squeeze.” Svo-
boda’s big bald head nodded. "There-
after strikes, disguised as mass resig-
nation. Boycotts. Civil disobedience,
if that fails. And then — Oh, well.
It’s a classic pattern.”

"Classic because it works," said
Jan. The blood crept up his dark
cheeks, making him heartbreakingly
boylike again.

"Sometimes.”

"You could save a lot of trouble
all around by canceling the decree at
once. In that case, we might be will-
ing to compromise on a few points.”

"Oh, but I’m not going to," Svo-
boda folded his hands as if in prayer,
rolled his eyes upward, and chanted
piously around his cigarette, "The
public interest demands the public
school.”

ASTOUNDING SCIENCE FICTION

Jan jumped erect. "You know
that’s only a hypocritical way of de-
stroying us!” he exclaimed.

"As a matter of fact,” said Svo-
boda, "I plan to have the curriculum
modified next fall. The time now de-
voted to critical analysis of certain
classics could better be spent in rote
memorization. And then, with hal-
lucinogens becoming so important
socially, a practical course in their
proper use — "

"You shriveled-up son of a sew-
er!" screamed Jan. He lunged across
the desk.

Iyeyasu was there, without seeming
to cross the floor between. The edge
of a hand cracked down on Jan’s
wrist. The other hand, stiff-fingered,
poked him in the solar plexus. Jan
gasped out his wind and collapsed
backward.

"Careful, there,” warned Svoboda.

"No harm done, sir,” Iyeyasu as-
sured him. He eased Jan into the
chair and began kneading his shoul-
ders and the base of his skull. "He
gets air back in a minute.” With an
ill concealed rage: "Is not a way to
speak to your father.”

"For all I know,” said Svoboda,
"he may have been literally cor-
rect.”

The glaze left Jan’s eyes, but no
one talked for a while. Svoboda lit
another cigarette and stared into
space. He wanted to look at the boy,
there might never be another chance,
but it would be poor tactics. Jan
slumped under Iyeyasu’s mountainous
form. At last he spoke, sullenly:

ROBIN hood’s barn

"I don’t apologize. What else
could you expect?”

"Nothing, perhaps.” Svoboda
made a bridge of his fingers and re-
garded his son across them. "There
will certainly be resistance to such
measures. And yet I am only under-
lining a conflict which would other-
wise proceed to the same inevitable
end. You did not let me explain why
you, rather than Wolfe, are your peo-
ple’s representative today. The fact is
that you are young and hot-headed, a
much better spokesman for the up-
coming Constitutionalist generation
than an older, more cautious, less in-
doctrinated man. The extremists in
your party might repudiate any agree-
ment Wolfe made, simply because he
is Wolfe, notoriously all things to all
men. But if you endorse a plan of
action, they will listen.”

"What agreement can we make?”
it snarled back at him. "Unless you
return our children to us — ”

"No maudlin figures of speech,
please. Let me explain the difficulty.
You and the government represent
opposing ways of life. They simply
cannot be reconciled. Once, perhaps,
there was a possibility of co-existence.
There may be again in the future,
when the issues no longer seem vital.
But not now. Just suppose that we
did give in, repealed the education
decree and reinstated your school sys-
tem. It would be a victory for you
and a defeat for us. You would gain
not only your objective, but confi-
dence, support, strength; we would
lose correspondingly. How long be-
fore you made your next demand?

You have other grudges besides this.
Having gotten back your schools, you
may next want back the right to criti-
cize political basics. If you gain that,
you will want the right to agitate
publicly. Having gotten that, you will
want representation on the Commis-
sion. Then you will want laws against
dope. Then — But I need not elabo-
rate. It seems best to settle the issue
now, once and for all, before you get
too strong. And that's why you won’t
get as much support from my col-
leagues as you expect.”

Jan bristled. "If you think this is
the final word — ”

"Oh, no. I have already indicated
how you will fight. I’m also well
aware of your potential for accumu-
lating weapons, subverting military
units, and at last resorting to force.
A number of Guardians want to ar-
rest the lot of you right now. But
alas, you are too important. Imagine
the chaos, if suddenly a fourth of the
technical personnel in Minerals or
Pelagiculture vanished, without even
training their successors! Or if Wolfe
was suddenly removed from his de-
vious routes of supply, where would
half the mistresses on Highlevel get
new gowns to outshine the other
half? Then, also, it’s notorious that
martyrs are a stimulant to any cause.
There would be plenty of young men,
who had never cared one way or an-
other about your philosophy, sudden-
ly fired by the vision of a thing big-
ger than themselves — Yes, we might
provoke the very war we were set-
ting out to forestall.”

Svoboda leaned back. He had the

boy on the ropes now, he saw: be-
wildered eyes, half parted lips, a
hand raised as if uncertain whether
to defend or appeal or offer thanks.

"There is a possible compromise,”
he said.

"What?” The question was barely
audible, in that big room which faced
a winter sky.

"Rustum. E Eridani II.”

"The new planet?” Jan’s head
snapped up. "But — ”

"If the most dissatisfied Constitu-
tionalists left voluntarily, after mak--
ing proper arrangements for replace-.
ment personnel and so on, the pres-
sure would be off us. Then, in time,,
we could back down on the school
issue and please your stay-at-home
fellows, without actually being de-
feated on it. Or, even if we didn’t,
you would be quit of us. The success-
ful planting of a colony would be
kudos for the Commission, a shot in
the arm for space travel, and there-
fore well worth our support and en-
couragement. As for the considerable
expense involved — you all own valu-
able property which couldn’t be taken
with you, so you can sell out and
thereby finance the passage and the
necessary equipment.

"It’s an old pattern in history.
Massachusetts, Maryland, Pennsylva-
nia, were all promoted by a govern-
ment which was hostile to the ideals
involved. Why not a repeat perform-
ance?”

"But twenty light-years,” whisper-
ed Jan. "Never to see Earth again.”
"You’ll have to give up a lot,”
agreed Svoboda. "But in return, you

ASTOUNDING SCIENCE FICTION

will escape the risk of destruction by
force or absorption by my evil
schemes.” He shrugged. "Of course,
if your nice radiant-heated sea house
is more important than your philoso-
phy, by all means stay home."

Jan shook his head, as if it had
taken a blow. "I’ll have to think
about it,” he mumbled.

"Consult Wolfe,” said Svoboda.
"He’s already looked into the mat-
ter.”

"What?” The eyes that were Ber-
nice’s grew candid with surprise.

"I told you Wolfe is not a fire-
eater,” said Svoboda, grinning. "I
gather he’s discussed the. possibility
of war, and done some organizing
for it, but I suspect he’s really been
trying for no more than a strong bar-
gaining position — so he can make us
send you to Rustum.”

This was the right note, he saw.
If Wolfe the mentor had really been
operating behind the scenes, Jan
would have less fear of a bomb in
whatever scheme was proposed.

"I’ll have to talk to him.” The boy
stood up. He was suddenly trem-
bling. "To all of them. We’ll have to
think — Good-by.”

He turned and stumbled toward
the door.

"Good-by, kid,” said Svoboda.

He didn’t think Jan heard him.
The door closed.

Svoboda sat without moving for a
long time. The cigarette between his
fingers burned so low that it scorched
him. He swore, dropped it in the
disposer, and struggled to his feet.

ROBIN hood’s barn

The broken foot was hurting him
again.

Iyeyasu glided around the desk.
Svoboda leaned on the tree trunk
arm, shuffling to the clear wall until
he could stare out and catch a glitter
of open ocean.

"Your son comes back, yes?” asked
Iyeyasu finally.

"I doubt it,” said Svoboda.

"You wanting them to go to the
planet?”

"Yes. And they will. I haven’t-
been working all these years without
getting to know my machinery.”

The sun out there was pale, but its
light hurt Svoboda’s eyes, so he had
to rub them with a knuckle. He said
aloud, in a precise but somehow not
steady tone: "Old Inky was an edu-
cated man in his way. He used to
claim that the only axiom in human
geometry is, the straight line is not
the shortest distance between two
points. In fact, there are no straight
lines. I find that’s pretty true.”

"This was your plan, sir?” Iyeya-
su’s voice held more sympathy than
intellectual interest.

"Uh-huh. Anker’s work showed
me there was no hope for Earth in
the foreseeable future. Maybe some-
thing will evolve here a thousand
years hence, but that won’t help my
son much. I wanted to get him out
while there was still time. But he
couldn’t go alone. It would have to
be as part of a colony. And the
colonists would have to be healthy,
independent, able people — nothing
else was likely to survive. I was gam-
bling that a habitable planet would

be discovered, but I could not gamble
that it would be very hospitable . . .
But why should such people leave?
On the whole, given half a chance,
they would do rather well at
home.

"So there had to be an obstacle on
Earth which sheer drive and intel-
ligence could not overcome. What
sort would that be? Well, it’s in the
nature of intercultural conflicts to be
insoluble. When axioms clash, logic
is helpless. So I set up a rival society
within the Federation. That wasn’t
hard. Here in North America, a dy-
ing culture had just tried to assert
itself by rebellion, and failed; but it
wasn’t dead yet. It only needed to
be given a new spirit and a sense of
direction. I had Anker’s philosophy
for a background. I had Laird, a
marvelous actor with much brains
and no conscience. He proved expen-
sive, but faithful, largely because I
made it plain what would happen if
he wasn’t. When his work was fin-
ished, I retired him — a new face, a

new name, and a lavish pension. He
caroused himself to death four years
ago. Of course, the possibility that I
had had Laird murdered was always
left open: the first irritating wound.
Among others.’’

Svoboda remembered a boy who
raged from the house and never came
back. He sighed. One can’t foresee
every detail. At least Bernice’s grand-
children would grow up as thinking
individuals, if Rustum didn’t eat
them first.

"I think we’re over the hump
now,” he said. "From now on, we
can sit back and watch the wagon roll
downhill. With stars at the bottom
of the hill.”

"We go south,” suggested Iyeya-
su clumsily. "We will get a telescope
and you can watch his new sun.”

”1 imagine I’ll be dead before he
gets there,” said Svoboda. He gnaw-
ed his lip a moment, then straight-
ened and hobbled from the window.
"Come on. Let’s go visit some fellow
Commissioner and be nasty.”

THE END

THE ANALYTICAL LABORATORY

( Continued, from page 53)
OCTOBER, 1958 ISSUE

PLACE

STORY

AUTHOR

POINTS

1 .

The Big Front Yard

Clifford D. Simak

1.81

Big Sword

Paul Ash

2.27

. . . And Check The Oil

Randall Garrett

2.68

False Image

Jay Williams

4.04

The Yellow Pill

Rog Phillips

4.22

The Editor.

ASTOUNDING SCIENCE FICTION

SEEDLING

BY CHARLES V. de VET

No man ever acts on the
Truth; he can only act on what
he understands the Truth to

be. Which can, at times, make
possible something that Truth
would make impossible alto-

SEEDLING

Illustrated by Schoenherr

SMALL armored lizard
pokes its dim-witted
way through the jungle
growth that hides the
face of its world like a
beard of blunt tangled whiskers. It
pauses and settles cautiously to the
ground as an evil-eyed, spike-backed
snake crosses its path. After a min-
ute the lizard raises its fluid-plated
body and plods onward, its head
swiveling sluggishly from side to
side.

It reaches a narrow clearing in the
twisted undergrowth. Here the lizard
crouches again. From behind comes
an orchestration of wicked and weird
sounds and calls as the jungle life
awakens to the signaling shadows of
evening: Muted chords of bill on
wood, the blip blip of a noisy swim-
mer, and a humming cadence of avari-
cious insect life. The echo of a foghorn
bellow in the distance is drowned by a
strangled shriek near at hand — as
some creature dies. Night on the liz-
ard’s world will be normal.

The small animal’s attention is not
on the sounds behind. Its beady eyes
study a tableau in the clearing ahead.
A huge, hairy beast, with a bald, big-
eared head, slumps unconscious in an
oversized chair. Its massive limbs are
strapped to the chair’s armrests and
front legs.

Beside the beast stand two men. It
is on them that die lizard’s dull in-
terest is centered. They are the
anomaly on this world.

With a concerted effort Caliban
forced his slack eyelids open. His

head had become too heavy for the
flaccid support of his neck and his
chin rested on his chest. His sight
focused on the matted rust-brown
hair on his body.

His body?

He lifted his head. A thin, pale-
cheeked young man met his gaze,
and stepped back, putting his hand
nervously to the butt of the pistol on
his hip. Caliban fitted a name to the
anemic youth. Emery Mays. He turn-
ed his glance toward the tall man
with the gray dust of age at his tem-
ples, who stood at Mays’ left. This
one was named Raymond Gorman.

"How do you feel, Cal?” Gorman
asked.

The man was speaking to him.

Caliban tried to tell him that he felt

weak and sick, that his mind was a
«

mass of blurred images that came
and went, but his tongue was too
weighty and his lips unable to form
the unfamiliar words. All that came
out was a low growl.

"It was kind of rough, wasn’t it?”
Gorman asked. His voice was gentle,
the voice of a man doing a necessary,
disagreeable job. "Just take your time,
Cal,” he said. After a minute he ask-
ed, "Can you understand what we’re
saying?’’

Caliban nodded hesitantly.

"Good. Whenever you’re ready,
let us know what we can do to make
things easier.”

"E.z.r?’’ Caliban startled himself
by speaking. The word was uttered
harshly, gutturally slurred, but audi-
ble.

Gorman smiled with satisfaction.
ASTOUNDING SCIENCE FICTION

"Fine, Cal, fine,” he said. "Do you
remember things- now?”

Caliban blinked his blood-shot
eyes wearily, but said nothing.

"No, I suppose not,” Gorman
mused. "But you will. We’ll have to
explain a lot, but everything we tell
you will trigger more in your mind.
Do you remember us landing here?”
He brought one arm around in a half-
circle and indicated the spaceship
balanced on its fins behind him.

Caliban followed where he point-
ed, hesitated, and grunted an assent.

“I knew you would.” Gorman went
eagerly ahead. "We found this world
just too savage to be surveyed by
ordinary means. But the highest life
form here was humanoid, so we de-
vised another way to get the job
done. You volunteered for the physi-
cal alteration necessary, and now you
look as exactly like one of the natives
as we were able to make you.”
Caliban said nothing, but the in-
terest with which he followed Gor-
man’s explanation showed that he
understood.

"You should recall your time un-
der the operating machine, and the
weeks we spent helping you get used
to this physique,” Gorman went on.
"And the trouble you had learning
to use your new body.”

Caliban’s mind was slowly becom-
ing more rational, and as Gorman
had said, his every word brought
fresh remembrances. However, an ac-
rid stench that had been hovering
about him all the while wrenched at
his stomach and his sickness rose
suddenly into his throat. He strained

forward. Only then did he notice the
straps that bound him to his chair.
He looked up at Gorman with mute
appeal.

"We had to tie you,” Gorman ex-
plained softly. "We didn’t know
how you’d react when you came out
of the anesthetic. We just finished
transferring the thought patterns of
one of the natives — we’ve been call-
ing them Apes — about an hour ago.”
He smiled with a weak attempt at
humor. "With those muscles you
could have tom us apart — if your first
thought had been that you were the
Ape whose memories we gave you."

Caliban’s nostrils widened and his
hairless face took on an expression
of acute distaste. "S.s.tink!” he ar-
ticulated laboriously, but with better
success than his first attempt at speak-
ing.

"I’m afraid that was necessary,”
Gorman answered. "To the best of
our understanding their odor is the
principal means of identity between
tribe members — perhaps greater than
sight recognition. If you wandered
into an Ape settlement with the
wrong scent — or worse, without any
— you wouldn’t live five minutes.”

The odor of his own body threat-
ened to overwhelm Caliban and his
stomach writhed convulsively.

"I’ll untie you, Cal,” Gorman said,
as he stepped forward.

"Don’t be a fool!” Mays’ words
brought Caliban’s attention to the
youth he had observed first on
awakening. His sallow features had
become visibly whiter. "Do you want
to kill us both?” he asked.

SEEDLING

Gorman shook his head and pro-
ceeded to loosen Caliban’s bonds.
Mays stood indecisively, then drew
his pistol, and backed quickly toward
the spaceship. The man was a coward
as well as a weakling, Caliban ob-
served with passive interest. When
the last strap had been loosened he
lurched from his chair and let the
distress empty itself on the ground.

"You’ll feel better for that,” Gor-
man said.

Caliban saw now that this man,
too, was frightened. His untying Cali-
ban, rather than retreating to the ship
as Mays had done, had been a brave
act. "I . . . won’t . . . hurt you,” he
told Gorman.

"I know." Gorman’s voice lacked
conviction. "I think I’d better go in
now though.” He looked about him.
"It’s getting dark fast. It’s better
that you sleep out here — as you have
been for the past few weeks. You
aren’t able to rest too well inside.
But there’s no danger. We have the
area surrounded with an electric
fence, you know. Be careful not to go
too near it if you decide to wander
about.”

Caliban did not answer. He eased
himself to the ground and curled in-
to a tight ball. He was asleep before
Gorman reached the spaceship.

The next morning Gorman decid-
ed that it was safe for Caliban to
leave the protected area. "There
isn’t much more we can fill you in
on, other than the background stuff
we’ve already gone over,” he said
to Caliban. "Once outside you’ll be

on your own. However, you should
be able to get by all right — if you
use a reasonable amount of caution.
I know you can’t recall much of what
you got from the Ape now, but what-
ever you observe outside, and any
contacts you make, should trigger
more of those memories.” He waited,
and when Caliban said nothing, ask-
ed, "You aren’t afraid, are you?”

Caliban shook his head.

"I knew you wouldn’t be,” Gor-
man assured him. He signaled to
Mays in the ship to shut off the cur-
rent in the fence. "You can go
through now,” he said, opening a
small gate. "Good luck.” There was
a forced heartiness in his voice.

Caliban walked the two hundred
yards through the trees to the wide
river that flowed sluggishly through
the jungle. He had been moving
quietly and as he came to the water’s
edge he surprised an Ape crouched
on hands and knees lapping up the
tepid water.

The Ape heard him at the same
instant and whirled about, springing
to his feet with the same motion. He
crouched and bared stained teeth.
The cuspids were abnormally long —
measured by human standards. In-
stinctively Caliban matched the other’s
pose. For a moment they stood face
to face, frozen in position, a snarl
in the throat of each.

The Ape stood approximately sev-
en feet tall and his wide body must
have weighed near to six hundred
pounds. Yet he was somewhat small-
er than Caliban.

ASTOUNDING SCIENCE FICTrON

Caliban became aware that he
understood the other's mouthings —
and that he was answering!

"I am I, a fierce one,” the Ape
growled. "I have killed many.”

Caliban noted, with the Earthian
part of his mind, that there was no
way of telling where one of the
Ape’s words left off and another be-
gan, for he was conveying his threats
with no use of definite words. Rather
the sounds, and their manner of ex-
pression, each conveyed a separate
meaning.

His "I have killed many,” ex-
pressed with a different inflection,
would have had a different connota-
tion entirely.

"I am I,” Caliban answered, the
observing portion of his mind noting
that in the Ape language, individuals
had no name, other than their way
of saying, "I am I.” He was aware,
also, by the slight twitching of the
other’s large ears, that the Ape was
not challenging. He was boasting to
convince Caliban of his great prow-
ess, hoping to scare him off.

"I journey up the river,” Caliban
growled. Here, as in all cultures, in
whatever phases of advancement,
"face-saving” was a must — if strife
were to be avoided. "If one delays
me, I will kill. Even such a fierce
one as you.” (The "you” was the
Ape’s own way of expressing "I am
I.”)

Having made their boasts, they
cautiously circled each other and re-
treated. The Ape man kept his head
turned to watch, while Caliban was
certain enough of his own subtly ac-

knowledged superiority to turn his
back as he continued upriver.

Caliban reached the stopping place
of a colony of Ape people late in
the forenoon, and recognized it as
his own tribe — or rather that of the
Ape man whose personality he had
acquired. Several of the tribe lounged
on the river bank and growled warn-
ings as he walked past, but the ex-
pressions were not threatening, and
more in the nature of greetings than
a show of hostility.

A large Ape, eating berries from
a small tree that he had pulled down
gave a surly grunt and went on eat-
ing — but watched Caliban warily.
Caliban recognized him as a rival
for the "strong one” of the tribe —
the nearest they came to having a
leader. -

He found that he experienced little
unease about his reception. Evidently
the Ape personality was dominant
in these surroundings. Only the
Earthian segment of his mind ex-
perienced relief at the success of this
first contact.

A female sitting by the river edge,
with her feet dangling in the water,
rose eagerly when she saw him ap-
proach and came over to him. Her
manner was fawning. His young
mate — the association clicked into
place in Caliban's mind.

He growled curtly and made a dis-
play of paying no further attention
to her. She followed at his heels
without resentment as he made his
slow progress through the territory
of the tribe.

SEEDLING

Caliban found a spot out of the
hot sun beneath a jug-leafed tree and
sat down with 'his back against its
bole. Here the temperature was satis-
fyingly warm and he was quite com-
fortable, except for an occasional in-
sect able to pierce his tough hide.
He slapped at them perfunctorily
when they bit, and they bothered him
very little.

In the river a large black head sud-
denly broke the surface and gazed
myopically at the tribesmen. After
the first glances they paid little at-
tention to the animal. It was one of
the harmless Herbivora that fed on
the river bottom vegetation.

Caliban blinked drowsily at the
passing stream and soon drifted into
a light sleep. He awoke to find the
female sitting beside him — with her
body resting against his chest. From
a civilized view she was not an al-
luring specimen.

She had few of the humanly ac-
cepted female attractions. She was big-
bellied and ugly, and her pendulous
udders, crusted with filth, hung heavi-
ly on her breast. Idly Caliban won-
dered if she were with child. Her
mouth was open and she breathed
noisily, with her moist pink tongue
hung out over one corner of her
lower lip. A trickle of saliva ran
thickly down her chin. But most dis-
agreeable of all was her stench.

. She smelled rancid, worse than
Caliban’s own odor — to which he
had become enough accustomed to
bear without retching. He pushed the
female from him and cuffed her on
the side of the head. He had a mo-

ment of mild surprise at his own
harshness, even while realizing that
his actions were quite in keeping with
the character he had adopted.

The female whimpered meekly
and hunched a short distance away,
regarding him reproachfully.

During the late afternoon it began
to rain and the Ape people left off
their drowsing, and feeding along
the river bank, and huddled in the
shelter of bordering trees and bushes.
Soon the rain began to come down
harder, and a strong wind sprang
up. It built up rapidly to storm pro-
portions. The temperature dropped
abruptly and the Apes gathered in
small groups and huddled together,
wet and miserable.

Caliban fared no better. He turned
his back to the savage wind, but cold
rain penetrated his fur and ran down
his shivering body. He thought of
returning to the ship, but it was sev-
eral hours journey, and he did not
want to go out into the storm. He
was experiencing enough discomfort
beneath his tree. What he needed
was a better shelter. If only there
were even a shack about . . .

With the thought Caliban rose,
reluctantly, but purposefully. Any
kind of action was better than sitting
on the wet ground, growing more
uncomfortable every minute.

He needed only a short search to
find the kind of sinewy vine he want-
ed, and used it to bind together a
framework of small trees and branch-
es that he broke off with his hands.
He covered the roof and sides with
more branches, twined into the

ASTOUNDING SCIENCE FICTION

framework, and the tougher large
leaves, and eventually had a rainproof
hut.

When he finished he crawled in
out of the storm. The ground inside
was still wet and he hunched down
on his heels, pondering what else
could be done. After a minute he
went out again and dug into a pile
of leaves under a neighboring tree.
Beneath the top layer he found sev-
eral thicknesses that were still dry.
He made a dozen trips before he was
satisfied with his new dwelling. He
lay down gratefully.

With the storm outside, and the
dryness inside the hut, Caliban soon
felt a kind of torpid contentment.
Once again he dropped off to sleep.

When he awoke the hut was dark.
He felt a warm body at his side and
explored cautiously. He recognized
the whimper, and the odor, of the
female. He did not force her from
him. And not because of pity. Her
warmth was welcome, and with his
back turned to her the stench was
not too bad to be borne.

Toward morning when Caliban
awoke he found that the storm had
ceased as abruptly as it had begun.
He rolled over and went back to
sleep. The next time he awoke he
crawled outside and saw that the sun
had already risen. An hour later the
woods had dried, and the Ape peo-
ple again sought shady spots out of
the sun’s heat.

Caliban wandered down the river
bank with several of the Apes until
they came to a grove of trees bearing

a large hard-shelled fruit. He and
the others broke the shells and ate
the starchy meat inside. It was nu-
tritious, and quite pleasant to the
taste.

He returned to the settlement and
found many of the natives busy
copying the shelter he had made the
night before. It had not taken them
long to perceive the utility of the
huts.

Caliban took his place against the
bole of a shade tree and waited for
he knew not what. His Ape nature
was content, but the other part of him
was restless — and irritable. The chil-
dren of the tribe made a continuous
noise — their play consisted of snap-
ping and snarling, and frequent
scufflings. The Ape droppings and
passings in the area began to ripen
in the hot sun and the stench soon
became unbearable. His female added
to his irritation. She was obviously in
heat, and persisted in kittenish caper-
ings about him. The thought of aping
the activities of some of the males
and females around him was nause-
ating. He would be glad when this
job was over.

When at last he could tolerate the
surroundings, and the company of
the Apes no longer, he decided to re-
turn to the spaceship. He should have
enough information to satisfy Gor-
man and Mays, for a time at least.

On the way back he circled two
hammer-headed saurians fighting
along the river bank, and after sev-
eral hours sighted the clearing occu-
pied by the spaceship. Gorman wel-
comed him back, though Mays either

SEEDLING

did not trust him or was still fright-
ened of him.

"So they were building shacks
when you left?” Gorman seemed
quite pleased. "I figured they'd turn
out to be more intelligent than they
appeared at first. My theory is that
their easy life is their biggest handi-
cap. They have all the food they
need, with little effort required on
their part. And they’re big and pow-
erful enough, especially when they
live in groups, to be safe from any
except the most savage animals. But
a people has to have struggle to make
cultural progress. It’s not a pleasant
thought, but pain is the great stimulus
to advancement.”

Caliban did not follow his reason-
ing too well, and he was not enough
interested to make an effort to under-
stand it better. He lay in the shade of
the spaceship, moving only enough
to keep it between him and the sun.

Gorman, too, stayed in the shade
■ — but he kept busy. He had brought
a portable saw from the ship and
cut down a large tree. He sawed off
two circular slabs which he carved in-
to serviceable wheels. "You’ll be able
to use the cart I’m making to haul a
few supplies, and some equipment,
when you return to the Ape colony,”
he said. "I wish I had some ball
bearings,’’ he went on as he continued
with his work, "but this wood is as
hard as teak. The axle should last for
a long time.’’ Gorman seemed thor-
oughly preoccupied with his work,
but his glance went often to Caliban.

Mays, who had spent most of the

afternoon in the spaceship, came out
just as Gorman finished with his cart.
"What do you say we cook our din-
ner out here?” he said. "A barbe-
cue should be fun.” There was some-
thing oddly strained about his speech.
He was like a bad actor, reciting his
lines instead of speaking them.

"A good idea,” Gorman approved.
"By the way, I found an outcropping
of flint rock this morning. I’ve al-
ways wondered if I could build a fire
with it — like the American Indians
did in the old days.” He cut some
shavings from a piece of soft wood
laying near the ship and began work-
ing over them with two pieces of
flint that he took from his pocket.

"Well, what do you know,” Gor-
man exclaimed several minutes later.
"It works!” He began fanning a tiny
flame that he had started in the shav-
ings. Caliban watched with awakened
interest.

Gorman and Caliban ate heartily
of the meal they prepared. Mays
seemed to have little appetite.

Caliban’s heavy meal brought its
usual midday torpor and soon the
sound of his rasp-throated snoring
filled the clearing.

Mays edged nearer Gorman and
spoke in an undertone. "Nice work,
Ray. With the principle of the wheel,
and fire, they’ll advance ten thousand
years in a few generations.”

Gorman did not reflect his pleas-
ure. "Sometimes I wonder if this sort
of thing is right,” he said grumpily.
"Earth might be doing more harm
than good by tampering this way

ASTOUNDING SCIENCE FICTION

with primitive cultures. What right
do we have to play God?”

Mays displayed little patience with
the older man: "What are they los-
ing? They’ll live longer, and live
better. We’re saving them a genera-
tions-long period of struggle and
hardship.”

"I suppose you’re right,” Gorman
agreed, without enthusiasm. "But how
about him ?” he asked after a minute,
indicating the sleeping Caliban with
an inclination of his head.

"What about him?”

"It's going to be pretty rough on
him when he finds out the truth.”

"Someone has to suffer,” Mays
argued. "And it’s a small price to
pay for the good that’s being
done.”

"Is it?" Gorman asked. "Put your-
self in his place. How would you
feel when the time came? Would
you consider it a small price?”

Mays shrugged noncommittally.

"Keep the strap around your
shoulders. It'll be easier to pull that
way,” Gorman instructed Caliban the
next morning. The cart was packed
with supplies and Caliban was ready
to start back to the Ape people.

"You can use the cart to bring back
anything you find that we might be
able to use. Especially any weapons
or tools. They’ll be a big help in pin-
pointing the exact culture stage. We’ll
probably take them with us when
we leave.”

"Where are you going to put

them?” Mays asked irritably. "That’s
only a two-man spaceship, you
know.”

Gorman scowled fiercely in his di-
rection and the young man grew si-
lent. A slow flush stained his pale
cheeks. Hurriedly Gorman let Cali-
ban out through the small gate.

Caliban spent three days in the Ape
camp this second trip. That was as
long as he could stand the filth and
promiscuous conditions in the settle-
ment. And one other thing irked him :
Some small unease that tantalized his
thoughts. He couldn’t place quite
what it was. It seemed that it might
be something one of the men back
at the spaceship had said, something
of vast portent.

The afternoon of the third day
Caliban returned to the landing site.

The spaceship was no longer
there!

With the discovery the unease that
had irked Caliban’s consciousness
crystallized^ Mays had said it was a
two-man ship. A leaden weight
seemed to form in Caliban’s stomach.

Only two men had c6me to the
planet— and only two had left.

That meant that he was . . .

Caliban’s emotions grew numb, as
from a sudden frost. He' looked
slowly about him, with empty eyes
that seemed to be seeing this land
then for the first time.

After a long minute he walked
with lackluster steps out into his
lonely world.

THE END

SEEDLING

DEADLOCK

Illustrated by van Dongen

ROBERT and BARBARA SILVERBERG

When brilliant, wise, and sincere men are
in absolute disagreement — you can safely
assume that they must both be wrong!

ASTOUNDING SCIENCE FICTION

R. SALDANHA: Would
you say, sir, that trans-
formation of Mars in-
to a planet habitable
for human beings
could be achieved within a genera-
tion?

Mr. Reed: Definitely. Our estimate
is that it would take fifteen to twenty
years to handle the job properly, at
the most.

Mr. Saldanha: Does this apply to
Venus as well?

Mr. Reed: Oh, no. We haven’t
been thinking about terraforming '
Venus. It would be a lot more com-
plicated than Mars. But we have the
procedure all worked out for Mars
already, you see.

Mr. Saldanha: What would be the
cost of transforming Mars into a
livable -world, then?

Mr. Reed: The figures are all
down in the specifications I submit-
ted to this committee, Mr. Chairman.

Mr. Saldanha: Yes, of course. But
would you be good enough to repeat
them for the benefit of the listening
audience?

Mr. Reed: It would be in the
neighborhood of a hundred-eighty
billion dollars, Mr. Chairman.

Mr. Saldanha: This cost figure is
substantially higher than that pro-
posed by the backers of the genetic
alteration proposal, is it not? I be-
lieve Dr. Hwang estimated the cost
of successful adaptation of human
beings for life on Mars as something
like one hundred ten billion dollars.

Mr. Reed: Yes, pantrop/s cheap-
er. But when you’ve done that, what

do you have? So far as Earth’s im-
mediate benefit is concerned, you
have nothing. Absolutely nothing. I
don’t believe in false economy.
I don’t see how the Western coun-
tries could ever bring themselves to
support the proposal of the Chinese
bloc, Mr. Chairman. It’s too fantastic
to consider seriously.

— Extract from transcript of
hearing before the United Na-
tions Commission on Planetary
Colonization, 14 March 2052.

With an impatient flick of his
hand, Dane Merrill snapped the
video -set off. The serene counte-
nance of the Brazilian diplomat and
the pouchy, seamed face of the
American industrialist were drag-
ged into an electronic whorl and
out of sight. Scowling, Merrill
wheeled round to face his wife. He
was a heavy-set man, stocky and
strong; at thirty-eight, he was an im-
portant figure in the operations of
the United Nations. . .

"There you have it,” he exclaimed
angrily. "Right there, in a nutshell.
Reed and his bunch think terraform-
ing is the only answer, and they
won’t even consider the Chinese
proposition, even though it’s seventy
billion bucks cheaper!’’

"Won’t the difference in cost af-
fect the decision?” Ellen Merrill
asked.

"Not very much. The money’s
just part of a bigger picture. Reed’s
argument is that it’s better to spend
a hundred eighty billion on some-
thing that’s likely to bring you per-

DEADLOCK

petual returns, than to throw a hun-
dred ten billion away with no return
whatever. But the Chinese say that
their process will give a greater re-
turn, for less than two-thirds the cost.
And there it hangs, with neither side
giving an inch. Ellen, it can hang
there for a hundred years!”

"Surely some compromise — ”

He shook his head. "There isn’t
any real compromise possible. You
can’t terraform half a world and seed
the rest with pantropically altered
people.”

"What about the other plan they
were mentioning, Dane?”

"The Scandinavian - Indonesian
idea?” Merrill shrugged. "That’s not
a plan, it’s an evasion. They want to
build pressurized domes on Mars —
on Venus too, for that matter — and
let it go at that. But the scheme’s
ridiculous. No civilization can de-
velop under a dome. The Moon
colony proves that. Either you change
the planet to fit the species, or you
change the species to fit the planet —
but you don’t try to make the best
of both factors when colonizing alien
worlds. Uh-uh. It can’t be done.”
Merrill subsided. He had been
through this with Ellen night after
night for six weeks, ever since the
matter had erupted into open debate
at the United Nations. She had agree-
ably played straight man for him,
allowing him to rid himself of some
of his pent-up accumulation of
nervous energy .But the daily routine
of frustration was taking its toll on
Merrill. That, and the growing sense
of international strain.

Until six weeks before, he had
been a member of the liaison staff of
U.N. Secretary-General St. Leger. He
had been a troubleshooter whose
main task was to smooth over ad-
ministrative difficulties in the United
Nations. St. Leger could not do the
whole job himself, and so he delegat-
ed some of his powers to trusted staff
men. Merrill was a professional con-
ciliator. His function in the hierarchy
of the Secretariat was to keep the
machinery oiled. But now, it seemed,
the machinery was about to break
down completely.

St. Leger had called him into his
office six weeks ago, on the 30th of.
January. The plump, many-chinned,
gimlet-eyed Canadian had gone
through the usual ritual of offering
Merrill a smoke and a drink, out of
his private stock of eighty-four proof
brandy, before he got down to the
main business at hand.

"Dane, I’m going to relieve you
from active duty for a while.”

"Sir?”

St. Leger chuckled ponderously.
"No, you haven’t done anything
wrong. I merely want to free you
from routine work temporarily. I
have a special project in mind for
you. A most important project.”

Merrill leaned forward, listening
carefully. He stubbed out his ciga-
rette.

, St. Leger said, "In three days the
Commission on Planetary Coloniza-
tion is going to start holding hear-
ings. The hearings — they’ll be chair-
ed by Senhor Saldanha of Brazil, by

astounding science fiction

the way — will continue until all as-
pects of the situation have been
thoroughly trampled around, after
which a series of resolutions wHl be
presented to the General Assembly
for consideration.” The Secretary-
General locked his hands over his
burgeoning paunch. "I’ve done a
little advance scouting, and I think
I can extrapolate the outcome of the
hearing. Deadlock. Flat, unbreakable
deadlock. A deadlock that can en-
dure all our lifetimes, and beyond,
and keep Man chained down to Earth
forever."

Merrill waited quietly. He knew
St. Leger was not expecting ques-
tions. St. Leger was telling, not dis-
cussing.

"What I want you to do, Dane, is
stay home and watch the debates on
video. The rest of the time I want
you to familiarize yourself complete-
ly with the situation — the historical
background, the scientific implica-
tions, the personalities of the leading
figures in the hearings — in short,
everything that could possibly be
relevant. Eat, breathe, sleep, and
dream Planetary Colonization.” St.
Leger chuckled. "If Ellen gives you
any trouble, let me know and I'll
talk to her. But I don’t think Ellen
will give you any trouble.”

"I hardly think so, sir."

"Good. She's a remarkably under-
standing woman. I envy you, at
times — although bachelorhood has
its advantages, too.” St. Leger grip-
ped the arms of his chair and said,
"Some time this spring the hearing
will end. Everyone involved will

have run out of hot air to release.
At that time, the situation will be in
total deadlock, unless I miss my
guess — and I haven't guessed wrong
on anything important in fifteen
years. That's when you step in. Using
my name, of course. We’ll have to
negotiate some kind of compromise."

"But—”

”1 know, no compromise seems to
exist. Well, Dane, we’ll have to
find one. Or else the human race is
going to remain strapped to its home
planet by a gigantic swathe of red
tape.”

Mr. Saldanha: Would you describe
the process your laboratories have de-
veloped, Dr. Hwang?

Dr. Hwang: Its main technique,
Mr. Chairman, is tectogenetic micro-
surgery. There are other auxiliary
facets, of course. Irradiation of the
genetic matter, polynuclear molding,
DNA manipulation —

Mr. Saldanha: Pardon a layman's
ignorance. What did you say?

(Laughter)

Dr. Hwang: DNA. Deoxyribonu-
cleic acid. The basic hereditary
material — the complex protein mole-
cule in which the blueprint for the
bodily design is carried. The nucleic
acids are our frime targets in pan-
tropic work, you see. We have even
developed techniques for synthesiz-
ing desired molecule configurations
to produce the intended somato-type.

Mr. Saldanha: I see. Using these
techniques, you can alter the appear-
ance of unborn individuals?

Dr. Hwang: We can alter far

DEADLOCK

more than their appearance, Mr.
Chairman. We can alter their entire
metabolic systems.

Mr. Saldanha: In other words, you
can create beings capable of surviving
the living conditions on Mars?

Dr. Hwang: We are confident of
this. In the case of providing Mar-
tian colonists it would be necessary
to create a metabolic cycle capable
of extracting energy from carbon
dioxide, and, of course, of subsisting
in substantially lower temperatures
than ours. This we can do.

Mr. Saldanha: Have you given any
thought to the possibility of develop-
ing pantropic forms for other planets
of the solar system — as well as the
Moon?

Dr. Hwang: The Moon has no at-
mosphere. We are unable at present
to conceive of a being that can per-
form respiration in a virtual vacuum.
Most of the other planets have ex-
tremes of temperature or gravitation-
al attraction that place them beyond
reach of our present modest abilities.

Mr. Saldanha: What about Venus?

Dr. Hwang: The task of creating
life forms to live in the Venusian at-
mosphere would be highly difficult,
though within the range of possibil-
ity. It would take many years of fur-
ther work.

Mr. Saldanha: I see. Tell me, Dr.
Hwang: can such beings, capable of
breathing the air of other worlds, be
said to be "human”?

Dr. Hwang: It is pointless to bog
down in semantic hairsplitting, is it
not? The beings would come of hu-
man germ plasm. They would merely

be fitted to their environment, as
many undoubtedly human beings to-
day are so fitted by skin coloration
and other racial characteristics. The
degree of environmental adjustment
would be quantitatively much great-
er, of course. I do not believe it can
be considered a qualitative difference.

Mr. Saldanha: You feel that your
process will provide Earth with colo-
nies that will remain within our
economic sphere?

Dr. Hwang: I am a biologist, Mr.
Chairman, not an economist. But I
have the assurance of my government
that the pantropic process is far more
likely to yield results than the
planetary transformation proposal.
The nations of the Asian ' bloc will
stand firmly against the squandering
of United Nations funds in fruitless
industrial operations.

— Extract from transcript of
hearing before the United Na-
tions Commission on Planetary
Colonization, 16 March 2032.

Dane Merrill had had six weeks
to bone up on history, biology, and
old-fashioned power politics. He lis-
tened to the bland voice of Dr.
Hwang P’ei-fu with perfect knowl-
edge that behind the biologist’s Ox-
ford vowels lay an implicit threat to
planetary peace. The same threat had
lurked below the rumbling tones of
Michael Reed the day before. Reed,
speaking for the industrial combine
that spearheaded promotion of the
Terraforming project, actually voiced
the irrational fears and subliminal
values of the entire Western world.

ASTOUNDING SCIENCE FICTION

Westerners feared pantropy. The
Asiatics mistrusted Western econom-
ic theorizing, and resented the
brashness of the Western industrial
approach. The conflict, Merrill
thought, was as simple as all that.

But the solution was not so sim-
ple. The conflict’s causes, he knew,
were intertwined with the deepest
roots of two cultures.

Merrill brooded. He scoured li-
braries, making himself an expert on
all phases of the situation. He
scanned science-tapes until his weary
head swam with details on oxygen-
fixing plants and nucleic acid ma-
nipulation. And, day after day, he
watched the hearings stride closer
and closer to perpetual deadlock.

The trouble was that the United
Nations, as it had been reconstituted
early in the twenty-first century, was
both powerless and all-powerful si-
multaneously. It was a world gov-
ernment presiding over a confedera-
tion of national states, each with
some degree of independent sov-
ereignty within the larger framework
of the U.N. Nations were subject to
U.N. decisions — but they still had
individual motivations for their ac-
tions, not global ones.

By the Treaty of 2009 that had
followed the cataclysmic demise of
the Soviet Empire, it was illegal for
any nation to take any unilateral ac-
tion in space beyond the twenty-mile
atmospheric zone. The Western
countries could not go off and terra-
form Mars without United Na-
tions approval. The Asiatic coun-
tries could not plant a pantrop-

ically adapted colony on the red
planet without an affirmative vote
backing them. To do so would be
to assert a right of national sov-
ereignty that no longer legally exist-
ed, The United Nations, which was
no greater than the sum of all its
parts, held sovereignty in space. No
trespassing by individual members
could be tolerated, and no individual
member — it was hoped — would dare
to risk war by so trespassing.

But a two-thirds General Assembly
majority was necessary for the ap-
proval of any kind of space activity.
And with the nations of the world
divided into opposing camps, some-
one would have to back down from
his position — and do it gracefully,
without losing face — before coloniza-
tion of Mars could begin.

Merrill had conducted a quiet sur-
vey of United Nations sentiment, in
the past few weeks. Of the one hun-
dred five members, a Western Bloc
of thirty-nine nations stood solidly
behind the American plan for terra-
forming, with nine or ten European
countries fence-sitting but leaning
toward the West.- Thirty-two nations
comprised the Asiatic Bloc, support-
ing China's pantropy plan, with eight
fellow-travelers among the Arab na-
tions.

The remaining dozen-odd coun-
tries were either determinedly neu-
tral or else had alternate plans of
their own, such as the generally dis-
liked Scandinavian-Indonesian plan
for building atmospheric domes in-
stead of self-sufficient colonies. One

DEADLOCK

thing was certain: neither bloc had
anything close to the seventy votes
necessary for approval. A deadlock
was apparent. Barring the unthink-
able — unilateral action in defiance of
the U.N. — it was quite likely that St.
Leger's melancholy prediction would
be borne out, and that the coloniza-
tion of the planets would indeed
never begin.

It had been possible to reach the
planets for nearly a hundred years.
Spaceflight had had its first uneasy
beginnings more than ninety years
back, during the Nightmare Years,
with the launching of the first un-
manned orbital satellites in 1957.
During the next ten years, the two
rival global powers — then the United
States and the Soviet Union — had
engaged in a technological race that
had enabled both countries, by 1965,
to send manned observer rockets to
the Moon. But the rockets had not
landed. The problem of lunar sov-
ereignty was a touchy one, too
touchy for either of the major pow-
ers to take risks with. So no landings
were made, though landings were
possible.

Events had hovered in uneasy
stasis that way for more than twenty
years, with space travel technically
feasible but politically impossible.
Finally, in 1990, under the auspices
of the revived International Geo-
physical Year, joint Soviet-American
lunar landings were made, and short-
ly afterward the first explorations of
Mars and Venus.

Both Mars and Venus proved to
be without life, and uninhabitable for

humans — Mars by virtue of its frigid
climate and thin, unbreathable at-
mosphere, Venus because of its hot-
house heat and its shroud of mias-
mous gases. Any colonization of the
two planets would of necessity in-
volve great technological alterations,
either in the planets or in the colo-
nists.

Matters remained at a standstill
for the next decade, during which
time the Depression of 2007 and the
fierce revolutionary struggle in East-
ern Europe and Asia that followed
effectively removed the Soviet Union
from her status as a major power,
destroyed the Communist regime,
and brought into being a dozen new
states carved out of the extinct su-
per-state. The Republic of China,
purge'd of its medievalism by seven
decades of intensive modernization,
emerged as the dominant nation of
the Eastern Hemisphere.

The International Treaty of 2009
was designed to facilitate the long-
delayed beginning of space coloniza-
tion by placing all authority in the
hands of the United Nations. With-
in twenty years, a domed city under
international control had been con-
_ strutted on the surface of the Moon,
and a ring of orbital satellites hung
round the Earth to serve as radio-
video relay stations, observation tow-
ers, and halfway houses for space
travelers.

The pressure of an expanded
economy now made the colonization
of the planets desirable. By 2040
expeditions had scouted the nine

ASTOUNDING SCIENCE FICTION

planets without finding life any-
where. Mercury, Jupiter, Saturn,
Neptune, and Uranus w'ould prob-
ably never be habitable for human
beings. Pluto and the moons of the
giant worlds were possibilities, but
only in the distant future when
thermonuclear energy could supplant
the absent warmth of sunlight.

Mars and Venus were the only
possibilities for the immediate fu-
ture. But it was necessary either to
build pressurized domes, as had been
done on Luna, or to set about alter-
ing the planets themselves. Western
scientitic energy concentrated on de-
vising a means for converting Mars
to a livable world.

At this point the geneticists of
Peiping quietly let the world know
of their experimental techniques for
altering fertilized human ova to pro-
duce beings adapted to the hostile

Martian environment. The world was
faced with alternate possibilities for
extending man s dominion.

The world faltered on the brink
of indecision. The world could not
choose between the concepts of alter-
ing the planets to fit the colonists
and altering the colonists to fit the
planets. For six years the propagan-
dists for both sides did their best,
while the time of decision-making
was postponed. Now matters were
reaching a culmination. A decision
had to be made. Some sort of a de-
cision. Any sort of decision.

Mr. Saldanha: Would you care to
add your words to the statement just
made, Mr. Kennedy?

Mr. Kennedy: As a private citizen,
l must say l find the concept of pan-
I ropy a highly repugnant one. As
Acting Head of the United States

DEADLOCK

Delegation to this Commission, I'd
like to say that we have every confi-
dence in the accuracy and validity of
the ideas Air. Reed of the terraform-
ing people has expressed, and we in-
tend to back him one hundred per
cent of the way.

— Extract from transcript of
hearing before the United Na-
tions Commission on Planetary
Colonization, 16 March 2052.

The offices of Michael Reed, lob-
byist extraordinary, were clustered on
six floors of a shimmering chrome-
plated skyscraper in Nyack, New
York, at the extreme northern edge
of the New York City Metropolitan

District. Dane Merrill had tried un-

successfully to gain an appointment
with Reed for more than a week;
finally, in desperation, he used the
name of Secretary-General St. Leger,
and was grudgingly given a half hour
on the morning of March 17th.

He left his Bayonne apartment at
half-past eight that morning, took a
bus to Jersey City, and there boarded
a nonstop underground tube-car that
took him. to Nyack in twenty min-
utes. At ten in the morning, he
emerged from an elevator on the
ninety-third floor of a building that
loomed above Nyack like a cathedral
above the Normandy plain, and
found himself confronted by the icy
glare of an android receptionist.

Reed had a finger in the brand-
new android industry too, Merrill re-
flected. Androids were going to add
to Earth’s economic problems soon
enough, once they got into produc-

100

tion and started displacing humans
from jobs. They were part of the
reason why it was necessary to extend
Earth’s dominion to the other planets
before too many more years went by.

Merrill met the android’s cold
stare. The things were still novelties;
Merrill had not seen more than a
dozen in his life. This one looked
like a waxen image, and its eyes did
not quite focus properly. Androids
were still far from perfect.

But the voice had an adequately
frigid receptionist’s tone to it:
"Whom do you wish to see, sir?”

"Mr. Reed. I’ve got an appoint-
ment. The name is Merrill. Dane
Merrill, from the U.N. Secretariat.”
He phrased his words with exagger-
ated care.

"Have a seat kindly, Mr. Dane
Merrill. I will check.”

Merrill sat. The receptionist’s win-
dow slid closed. A few minutes slip-
ped by. Then the inner door opened
and a neatly groomed, affable-look-
ing man appeared.

He offered his hand. "How do you
do, Mr. Merrill. I’m Frank Hark-
ness, Mr. Reed's personal secretary.
Suppose you step inside and we can
do some talking, yes?”

Merrill followed Harkness through
the frosted door and into a small of-
fice to the left. As he entered, Mer-
rill noticed that the inscription on
the office door read F. }. Harkness.

He said, “I had the understanding
that my appointment was with Mr.
Reed himself.”

Harkness smiled ingratiatingly,
and said: "Of course, of course. But

ASTOUNDING SCIENCE FICTION

we assumed you were familiar with
our procedure. Mr. - Reed is an ex-
tremely busy man, you see. He dele-
gates certain interviews to members
of his personal staff, and then at the
end of each day we report to him
and he acts on our conclusions. The
principle of delegation of authority
is — ”

Merrill knew all about the prin-
ciple of delegation of authority. His
voice took on an annealed edge as he
said crisply, "I understand. But my
appointment is with Mr. Reed. If
Mr. Reed can't see me, I suppose I
might as well leave.”

The affability faded from Hark-
ness’ face. He looked pale. He started
to sputter something, and Merrill
picked up his attache case and head-
ed for the door. He closed it behind
him without looking back, but he
was gratified to hear the sound of a
telephone being hurriedly snatched
from its cradle.

Merrill was standing in the recep-
tionist's cubicle waiting for the
elevator when Harkness appeared,
still pale and muttered an apology.
Beckoning to Merrill, he conducted
the U.N. man through an inner
maze of corridors, and deposited him
in the office of Michael D. Reed him-
self.

Reed was an enormous bald pink-
faced man in his sixties, with mas-
sive jowls and deep-set, intense
brown eyes. He held no elective post,
yet in many ways he wras the most
influential man in the Western
Hemisphere. He headed a dozen cor-

DEADLOCK

porations which stood to gain heav-
ily by adoption of a terraforming
program for Mars.

Merrill wasted little time on
formalities. "I'm the personal at-
tache to Secretary-General St. Leger,
Mr. Reed. My job, as you know, is
to expedite the United Nations pro-
gram of planetary colonization. I'm
here today to sound you out on the
possibilities of compromise.”

"What kind of compromise?"
Reed rumbled. ”1 don’t see any com-
promises possible.”

"You’re staking everything on
putting terraforming across. But you
need the votes of seventy out of one
hundred five countries to approve
your program. At least thirty-two na-
tions are dead set against you. You
don’t have the actual support of
more than thirty-nine nations. Do
you really expect to win the votes of
all but three of the thirty-four neu-
trals?”

"Did you come here only to ask
me that?”

"I came here to tell you that as
things stand, neither the Western
bloc nor the Asiatics can hope to
command a simple majority in the
General Assembly, let alone, a two-
thirds vote. So there has to be a
deadlock.”

"I know that. What do you want
me to do? Call off the hounds and
let the Chinese have it all?”

"Not all, Mr. Reed. Just Mars.”
"Give in, you mean?”

"You can break the deadlock, Mr.
Reed. Let the pantropists have Mars.
Perhaps we can arrange an unwrit-

101

ten agreement whereby terraformers
can have the next planet."

"There isn’t any next planet. At
the moment Mars is the only one in
the solar system we could trans-
form.”

Merrill frowned. He hadn’t se-
riously expected Reed to back down
voluntarily, but at least he had tried.
"Perhaps a budget reduction — ”
"Impossible," Reed said, glower-
ing. "I told the Commission on
Monday that my budget figures are
boned to the minimum now. With
an appropriation of ninety billion it
would take us a hundred years to
terraform Mars.”

"Better a hundred years than
never.”

"No! We won’t give in. We
won’t allow those orientals to create
hideous travesties on the human
form, Merrill. And — "

"Hold it,” Merrill snapped. "Are
you more concerned with terraform-
ing the planets or with preventing
further research into pantropy?”

"I consider that an impertinent
question.”

"I consider it a relevant one.”
"My private views are immate-
rial,” Reed growled. He leaned for-
ward and ticked his sentences off on
his thick, stubby fingers. "One: it’s
economically necessary to establish
colonies on Mars in the near future
— within the next fifty or sixty years.
Two: Terraforming offers the only
sane way of making Mars valuable
to us. Three: we need a full budget
or else we’re hamstrung from the
start. Four: the Asiatic proposals are

102

immoral, obscene, and of no eco-
nomic value. It’s our duty as human
beings to prevent any such distortion
of science as the creation of a pan-
tropic civilization. Five: I have every
confidence that in the course of time
the other nations of the world will
see the validity of my first four
points, and will change their present
opinions.” Reed drew a breath.
"Therefore, you can tell St. Leger
that we intend to stand pat. We’re
not interested in backing down. I
have an appointment in Washington
in seventy minutes, Mr. Merrill.
Will you excuse me?”

From a phonebooth in the lobby
of the building, Merrill called the
private number of Secretary-General
St. Leger, at U.N. Headquarters. The
conversation was brief.

"Reed’s as solid as Gibraltar. He
says he’s going to play a waiting
game and hope that the world sees
the innate righteousness of his cause
eventually.”

"All right,” St. Leger said.
"Scratch that approach. You’d better
make an appointment with Hwang.”

Mr. Saldanha: The Chair recog-
nizes the delegate from the Republic
of China.

Mr. Wu: 1 think it is only fair to
point out , in regard to the foregoing
discussion, that my country, because
of its current economic position, con-
tributes twenty-one per cent of the
annual United Nations budget. If
the Western proposal were to be ap-
proved, we would be compelled to
supply some thirty-six billion dollars

ASTOUNDING SCIENCE FICTION

toward, tbe cost of terraforming
Mars. I’m sure it must be plain to
all that this would be an intolerable
imposition.

— Extract from transcript of
hearing before the United Na-
tions Commission on Planetary
Colonization, 19 March 2052.

Dr. Hwang P’ei-fu, at thirty-seven,
was the leading biologist of his
resurgent country: a slim, slight man
with the glossy black hair and
smooth yellow skin of his race, who
spoke English flawlessly and in gen-
teel tones. He was witty, urbane, and
self-effacing. He was also extremely
obstinate.

He poured a second Martini for
Merrill in his rented suite overlook-
ing the East River, and said quietly,
"Terraforming is a remarkable scien-
tific advance. I have studied the pro-
posals developed by Dr. Halliburton
and put forth by Mr. Reed. Artifi-
cial generation of oxygen out of
tritium ice, development of hardy
plants capable of carrying on photo-
synthesis in Martian climates, crea-
tion of fertile topsoil — yes, all
extremely ingenious. But how un-
necessary!”

The biologist smiled across the
table at Merrill, who said: "But the
result will be a planet that you and
I could visit at will, without the
nuisance of special equipment or the
risk of living under a dome.”

"Ah . . . but would we visit there?
Have you been to the Moon, Mr.
Merrill?”

"I . . . uh . . . no.”

Neither have I. It’s possible to
exist on the Moon without the
nuisance of special equipment, is it
not, provided one remains under the
dome. Yet very few people go there
for short stays, except on business.
Just so with Mars. The people who
go there will be going there to stay.
We need not worry about the con-
venience of the tourist trade for many
centuries.” The Chinese sipped his
drink. "On the other hand, how
much simpler it is, what a smaller
output of money and energy it would
be, to create a race of human beings
capable of withstanding the rigors
of Martian life! A brother race, able
to live on our sister world.”

"But would these . . . ah . . . pan-
tropes retain any loyalty for the
mother world, though? They’d be
alien.”

Hwang’s smile widened. "You
westerners seem to have an irrational
fear of altering the human shape.
My good friend, we will not be
creating monsters. We will be adapt-
ing human physiques, not human
brains.”

"The form might govern the per-
sonality.”

Hwang sighed. "Such pantropic
forms as have been created experi-
mentally in our laboratories show no
marked psychological deviation from
expected norms of behavior. These
are laboratory animals, of course; we
have done no actual experimentation
with human ova.”

Merrill wondered how seriously to
take that assertion. He let it go by.
"Is it necessary to have Mars imme-

deadlock

103

diately, Dr. Hwang? Couldn’t your
people step down, in the interests of
global harmony? Allow the West to
terraform Mars, and continue your
pantropy work until you were cap-
able of creating a race to live on
some other world?”

Hwang brushed the suggestion off
as rapidly as Reed had. He shrug-
ged gently and said, "That would
mean we should be contributing
many billions of dollars to a project
we cannot believe in, Mr. Merrill.
My country is but newly emerged
from abject poverty. I hardly see
how we could countenance such
squandering. Would you care for
some tea, Mr. Merrill?”

Merrill left the Chinese scientist’s
headquarters half an hour later,
realizing he had made no headway
whatever. Reed had blustered and
Hwang had spoken in velvety tones,
but each was equally immovable.
The Chinese refused to waste mopey
on Terraforming; Reed and his
group regarded pantropy as somehow
blasphemous.

At least, those were the reasons
offered. Behind that lay the eco-
nomic reasons. American industry
needed the mighty financial boost
that adoption of terraforming would
provide. Chinese science craved the
prestige that would accrue from ap-
proval of its techniques — and Chi-
nese scientific prestige was a matter
of incalculable importance to them.

No one would yield. No one
would step aside. It was infuriating,
Merrill thought, to be so close to the
interplanetary era and to hang back,

104

a planet caught up in petty politick-
ing and vengeful selfishness. Merrill
reported back to St. Leger and re-
turned to his home in a mood of
bleak misanthropy.

The Commission’s hearings would
shortly be at their end. Resolutions
would be thrown on the floor of the
General Assembly. There was only
one foreseeable result.

Deadlock.

UNITED NATIONS, New York,
March 26 — A two-pronged attempt
to embark on the colonization of
Mars ended in another East-West
stalemate at the General Assembly
today. A proposition advanced by
the United States that would have-
authorized the appropriation of $180
billion in United Nations funds for
the purpose of making the planet
Mars livable for human beings went
down to defeat by a vote of 49-43,
with thirteen abstentions. Seventy
votes were needed for approval.

Two hours later, a parallel Chi-
nese program that would have
granted $1 10,300,000,000 for crea-
tion of a race of people capable of
withstanding present conditions on
Mars met even greater disapproval.
It was turned back by a vote of 52-
41, twelve members abstaining.

Immediately after the session, rep-
resenlatives of several uncommitted
nations declared they would sponsor
various compromise bills in the As-
sembly tomorrow in hopes of ending
the deadlock.

— The New York Times &
Tribune, March 27, 2052

ASTOUNDING SCIENCE FICTION

UNITED NATIONS, New York,
March 27 — East and I Vest joined
forces today to defeat a Danish-
sponsored compromise measure
which would have authorized the
construction of Moon-type habita-
tion domes on Mars.

The proposal, termed a "shocking
evasion" by United States Delegate
Charles Kennedy and a "deplorable
mistake" by Chinese representative
Wu Hsien-fu, sidestepped the con-
troversial issues of terraforming and
pantropy completely. It gathered
only eleven supporters, with eighty-
eight nations in opposition and sev-
en abstaining from the ballot.

Shortly after the voting, United
Nations Secretary General Hilaire
St. Leger declared he was "hopeful"
that the deadlock would be resolved,
but added that both factions seemed
unwilling to consider any changes in
their positions, and that he had no
immediate suggestions that might
alleviate the crisis.

— The New York' Times &
Tribune, March 28, 2052

Dane Merrill was trying to relax.
He was not succeeding. His mind
kept going back again and again to
the General Assembly action of the
past few days, and to St. Leger’s
mournful little press statement.

Nothing to alleviate the crisis.
Deadlock. Merrill brooded bitterly.
Two proud, stubborn, equally justi-
fied factions refused to relax their
stands, and, barring sudden and un-
likely collusion on the part of the
neutral nations in favor of one plan

or the other, the deadlock could,
ridiculously enough, endure for all
eternity. Or at least until that remote
age when Mankind was no longer
motivated by such transient things as
national pride or economic expe-
diency.

The night the Danish patchwork
compromise received its resounding
thumping in the Assembly, Ellen
Merrill had invited a neighborhood
couple up for drinks and an eve-
ning s company. Ellen had chosen
with her customary shrewdness; the
guests were conversational vacuums,
amiable and amusing people who
could not pursue a line of thought
consecutively for more than two sen-
tences, and whose idea of a good
evening’s entertainment was a drink
or two and an exciting session of
rotowheel or lunar rummy.

Ellen had picked her guests with
adroit care; the topic of the space
deadlock did not arise once during
the evening. But Dane Merrill’s
forehead remained furrowed. He
barely touched his drink; he lost con-
sistently at rotowheel, to the great
delight of the guests. He said little.

When they finally were alone,
shortly before midnight, he turned
sharply on his wife. "Why did you
invite those people here tonight?”

"Why . . . why — ’’ Ellen had no
quick answer. "They’ve always had
a good time here, and I thought you
liked them! They are pleasant peo-
ple, after all, and — ”

"Pleasant! Sure, they’re pleasant!
Do you think that pleasant man and
his pleasant wife ever had a thought

105

DEADLOCK

in their pleasant lives? Do you think
they as much as know about the
idiocy going on in the Assembly
these days? Do — ”

Ellen took his hand soothingly.
"Do you think everyone worries
about outer space as much as you

to be a star, hung balefully out there.
Mars. The red planet seemed to be
mocking him. "Sure,” he said.
"Someone will give in. It may take
only five hundred years, but someone
will give in!"

He shook his head. It was irra-

do? They feel the same way I do,
Dane. Everything’s going to turn
out all right, eventually. This stale-
mate can’t last forever. Someone will
give in.”

"Sure,” he said bitterly. He yank-
ed his hand back, walked to the
terrace, stared out at the night sky.
A glowing coppery-red dot, too big

106

tional, he knew, and almost para-
noid, in a way, to take the interna-
tional situation so much to heart. It
was not his fault, after all, that na-
tions were stubborn. He had tried.
He had done his best. The sane, in-
telligent reaction now would be a
futile shrug — not this bitter self-
churning anger.

ASTOUNDING SCIENCE FICTION

But yet, Merrill thought, anger
was the only honest reaction. Per-
haps it was not his fault; still, he
felt a deep sense of responsibility.
The deadlock had to be broken. He
hardly cared which side won; the
contenders seemed of equal merit to
him, and he had no patriotic leanings
toward the Western side. Justice was
his only concern. Along with St.
Leger, he was an Earthman first and
foremost, not an American or a man
of the Western Hemisphere. That
kind of parochial thinking had caus-
ed all the harm thus far.

He turned away from the terrace
and said to his wife, "There has to
be an answer, Ellen. Somewhere.
And I can’t relax until that answer’s
been found. I'm sorry, darling.”

"You don’t have to apologize,
Dane. Just . . . just try to take things
more casually. You’re killing your-
self with worry over a situation you
can’t help.”

"I know. Dammit, I wish there
were some way I could help it,” he
said.

The next morning, Merrill stop-
ped off at St. Leger’s office. He found
the plump Secretary-General in a
dark mood.

"I spent last night with represen-
tatives from five of the neutral
countries,” St. Leger said. "Denmark,
Afghanistan, Burma, France, and
Hungary. We tried to work out some
kind of compromise measure, Dane.
Something to toss out on the floor
when the session opened today.”

"Get anywhere?"

"Not even to ... ah ... first
base,” St. Leger said with a melan-
choly attempt at a grin. "There just
isn t any workable compromise.
Nadas, the Hungarian, wanted to
know if it was possible to terraform
half of Mars and let the Chinese
seed the other half with pantropes.
Imagine that! I suppose he was fig-
uring on building a wall between
the Martian hemispheres to keep the
atmospheres from mixing, or some-
thing.”

Merrill did not chuckle. "There
aren’t any compromises. It’s a damn-
ably black-and-white situation.”
"Yes. Either one side or the other
has to give in, or everybody
loses.”

"You’d think they’d see that!”
"They do,” St. Leger replied.
"We aren’t dealing with blind na-
tionalistic fanatics, Dane. But the
people of the Western world have
some kind of emotional horror of the
whole business of pantropy, while
the Easterners can’t see the sense of
throwing away what they consider a
perfectly good process, in favor of.
one that’s not only more expensive
but — in their eyes — less sensible. So
nobody’s giving an inch. And you
know what I’m afraid of, of course.”
"Unilateral action? But that’s im-
possible.”

"Not impossible, Dane. Just un-
desirable. Suppose the Asiatics get
fed up with legislative shilly-shally-
ing, and send a team off to Mars to
start raising pantropes? Or suppose
the West shrugs its shoulders and
decides to terraform Mars out of its

deadlock

107

own pocket, for the benefit of West-
ern private enterprise?”

"We’d have war.”

"Of course we would. The Night-
mare Years are over, thank God, but
they’re not necessarily over forever.
We’ve had relative peace and har-
mony on this planet for less than
fifty years. That isn’t long enough
for the condition to become habitual.
If this logjam in the Assembly isn’t
broken soon, we might just see some-
one taking unilateral action. And
then it’ll be the old business of the
H-bombs again, all the childish fist-
waving lunacy we thought we buried
in 2009.”

Merrill stared at the wine-colored
carpeted floor of St. Leger’s office.
"No compromise in sight. And
neither side willing to back down.
What happens?”

"I wish I knew. Go have a talk
with Kennedy and Wu, Dane. I
don’t dare; they’re too suspicious of
me. But sound them out. Find out
how they’re reacting to the stalemate.
Then report back to me as soon as
you can.”

"Right.”

The last thing Merrill saw as he
left his superior’s office was St. Leg-
er’s plump hand reaching for the
brandy bottle that was always kept
available in a desk compartment.
Lord help us all, Merrill thought.
Before this is over we’ll all be living
on tranquilizers and hooch!

WASHINGTON, D. C., March
29 (AAP ) — Charles Kennedy, head
American delegate to the United Na-

108

lions, spent the morning at the
White House today, holding his
third conference with President
Brewster in the past ten days. Also
present were Dr. Manly Halliburton
of Chicago and Michael D. Reed of
New York, leading proponents of
the terraforming project for Mars.

Neither the President nor Air.
Kennedy had any statements to make
after the conference. Air. Reed com-
mented, "I have received continued
assurance of the government’ s faith
in the terraforming concept.”

— The New York Times
Tribune, March 30, 2052.

At fifty-seven, Charles Kennedy
had already had a distinguished ca-
reer, with at least twenty more years
of public service ahead of him. He
was a tall man, four inches above
Dane Merrill’s stocky six-one, and
he made the most of his unusual
height: he dominated. Kennedy had
lean, aristocratic features, a long
tapering nose, firm lips. His eye-
brows were incongruously dark and
bushy beneath his prematurely whit-
ened hair.

He smiled graciously at Dane
Merrill from behind the imposing
brown bulk of his uncluttered ma-
hogany desk and said, "L appreciate
your position, Merrill. But do you
really appreciate ours?”

"I’m aware that you’re backed way
out on a limb, Mr. Kennedy, if
that’s what you mean.”

"I do. And you now propose that
we saw that limb off behind us, in
the name of statesmanship.”

ASTOUNDING SCIENCE FICTION

"In the name of peace,” Merrill
said.

Kennedy stirred restlessly and
fugged at his mane of white hair.
"There are many intangible factors
involved in this, you see. In the past
six months we’ve spent a few hun-
dred million of our own money to
determine the feel of popular opin-
ion in this hemisphere. And most
people are shocked to the point of
disgust by the entire idea of pan-
tropy.”

"Most people are shocked by any
radically new idea,” Merrill re-
marked.

"Granted. But, my dear Merrill,
we happen to live in an elective de-
mocracy. Do you know what would
happen if I were to reverse our cur-
rent stand and vote in favor of pan-
tropy ?”

"I could guess. You and the
President and the rest of the Amer-
ican government might be out of
jobs after this fall’s election.”

Kennedy nodded. "There would
be an overwhelming reaction against
us. I’m not a petty man, Merrill, and
the President certainly is not. The
fact that this is an election year and
we might see a change in administra-
tion is emphatically not a governing
factor in our behavior. But we feel
that our administration is a good
one. We feel it would be a public
disservice to act in such a way that
the people would lose faith in us.”

"The election is in November,”
Merrill said. "You don’t want to
jeopardize yourselves before then.
But assuming the President is re-

DEADLOCK

elected, what do you think of the
possibilities of a strategic withdrawal
from the current Western position
next year? I mean, letting the dead-
lock prevail until after the election,
and then — ”

". . . Backing down? Now you
raise another difficulty, Merrill. We
have faith in our own project. We
don’t see why we should be called
on for total surrender. We feel the
Asiatics should be the ones to with-
draw.”

Merrill moistened his lips. "The
Asiatics feel the same way, of
course, about your ideas. It’s too bad
there isn’t some middle way. For ex-
ample, letting the Chinese create
pantropes for Mars, and turning
Venus over to the West for terra-
forming work.”

"I’ve heard that proposal before,”
Kennedy said smoothly. "But it has
two glaring flaws. One is that this
country could never condone the
spending of United Nations money
for pantropy, under any circum-
stances. The other is that it might
take us from fifteen years to a cen-
tury to develop a technique for
terraforming Venus. The task is
tremendously more complex than
handling Mars, you understand.
Formaldehyde — ’ ’

"Very well,” Merrill sighed. He
had fought another bout of diplo-
matic fencing, and it had ended in
a standstill. "The status remains quo,
is that it?”

"I'm afraid so. I’d love to see a
solution reached, Merrill — believe
me. But no compromise seems to ex-

109

ist, and we simply refuse to capitu-
late totally. It would be suicidally
foolish of us to do so.”

"I suppose we’ll have to leave it
at that,” Merrill said quietly. "Good
day, Mr. Kennedy. And thank you
for your time.”

Merrill rose and left. He had the
ominous feeling that he was simply
exhausting one avenue after another,
and that ultimately he would have
to shrug his shoulders and let the
deadlock prevail.

In the corridor outside the offices
of the American delegation, Merrill
took out a notepad and scrawled a
memo to St. Leger:

Kennedy adamant. Afraid to back
down. Implies the possibility of
eventual unilateral action to break
deadlock. I’m going to see Wu now.
Prognosis not encouraging.

Merrill.

He folded the note, applying
pressure to seal it, and collared an
interoffice courier busily making the
rounds.

"Here, boy. Take this over to Mr.
St. Leger’s office, will you? Thanks.”

"Certainly, Mr. Merrill. Of
course.”

Wu Hsien-fu, ranking member of
the Chinese United Nations delega-
tion, spoke English with the same
perfection as Dr. Hwang, but rather
than Oxford accents Wu employed
a clipped, surprisingly American in-
flection. He was in his late sixties,
but he gave the outward appearance
of a man twenty years younger.

He said crisply, "Compromise is

110

flatly out of the question, Mr. Mer-
rill. But why, may I ask, should we
be the ones to give ground?”
"Because,” Merrill said in a weary
voice, "the Western bloc refuses. It’s
as simple as all that. On behalf of
Mr. St. Leger, I’m suggesting that
the Asian nations nobly sacrifice
their position in the interest of world
peace.”

Wu chuckled. "You make it sound
noble indeed. But such a concession
is unthinkable. The entire Eastern
world looks to China for leadership,
Mr. Merrill. How can we disappoint
nearly five billion people by aban-
doning what we believe is right?”
"It’s an opportunity to make a
moral gesture. You’ll be demonstrat-
ing the greater flexibility of the
Orient, the ability to retreat from
an untenable position.”

"I don’t see it that way,” Wu re-
plied.' "I see it as an immense loss
of face. I see it as an act of coward-
ice. I'm sorry, Mr. Merrill. We can-
not alter our position.”

Merrill fidgeted. "The Western
nations are taking the same stand.
What nobody seems to realize is that
this deadlock may last forever — and
then no one will win.”

Wu shrugged and allowed a faint
smile to cross his face. "Institutions
come and go. Who would have im-
agined, sixty years ago, that the
Soviet Union would crumple and dis-
appear? Who could have conceived,
three hundred years ago, that the
scattered American colonies of Great
Britain would unite into a dominant
nation ? We of China are accustomed

ASTOUNDING SCIENCE FICTION

to taking the long view of events.
We can wait, in other words, for the
climate of opinion to change. We
prefer that attitude to one of coward-
ly concession."'

Which meant, Merrill thought,
either that China was counting on
the eventual dissolution of the Unit-
ed Nations, or on taking some direct
action herself if matters^ remained in
stasis. Neither was a cheering
thought.

He said aloud, "What I had in
mind was not a complete backdown,
Mr. Wu. Perhaps, instead, Mars
could be turned over to the terra-
formers for immediate change, while
you could set your sights on pan-
tropy for Venus.”

Wu closed his eyes. "I have dis-
cussed this matter with Dr. Hwang
and other biologists of our country.
The opinion — as I believe you know
already — is that pantropy for Venus
is unfeasible at the present. It would
take a great deal of effort — unneces-
sary effort, may I add. No, Mr. Mer-
rill. We will not abandon Mars to
the West. We will simply wait and
see.”

Merrill left Wu’s office in a bleak
mood of resigned despair. He had
exhausted his last recourse. He for-
warded a note to St. Leger that read
simply, W y u won’t budge an inch.
Not impressed by any arguments.
Where do we go from here?

Merrill knew where he personally
was going. He took an underground
tube-car to Jersey City, transferred
for the Bayonne bus, and rode mood-
ily home. It was a bright day, pre-

maturely springlike, but the soft blue
of the sky and the sight of ripening
yellow buds on the trees did not af-
fect Merrill’s mood.

He downed two aspirins and a
double Martini without feeling
much better about things. He had
spent a hard day, dealing with im-
movable objects — and, he admitted
to himself darkly, he was a good deal
less than an irresistible force him-
self.

A resolution tabling further con-
sideration of planetary colonization
was approved today by the United
Nations General Assembly. A vote
of 99-0, with four Scandinavian
countries and two Middle East na-
tions abstaining, removed the trou-
blesome question of Martian coloniz-
ation from this session’s agenda. A
two-thirds majority will now be
necessary to reopen discussion this
year. The tabling resolution was
sponsored jointly by Chile and
Japan s

Dr. Getulio Saldanha, Brazilian
delegate who conducted the recent
U.N. hearings on the space question,
termed the tabling "unavoidable but
tragic.” (Full text of Dr. Saldanha’s
statement on P.4.j

United Nations Secretary-General
Hilaire St. Leger commented, "This
action does not mean the end of
hopes for eventual colonization of
Mars. It simply provides time for
mature reconsideration of present
opinions. I have every confidence
that we will reach a satisfactory con-
clusion to the situation when the

DEADLOCK

111

General Assembly re-examines it in
next year’s session."

— The New York Times &

Tribune, April 11, 2052.

A month slipped by. April turned
into .green May, and summer, as it
so often does, descended premature-
ly on New York; days of clammy,
humid weather were the result. The
General Assembly focused its atten-
tion on the problems created by the
recently-disclosed results of the 2050
global census. Dane Merrill returned
to his liaison post in the office of
Secretary-General St. Leger, and con-
centrated chiefly on the task of mol-
lifying U.N. delegates who were
irritated by the complexities of life
in New York.

But at the back of his mind was
the nagging business of the Martian
colonization. He saw the press re-
leases in the papers, from time to
time — research into terraforming and
pantropy was still continuing, sup-
ported by national funds exclusively.
The United States was contributing
a billion a year for terraforming re-
search; the Chinese, nearly as much
for their geneticists.

But the budgets of individual
countries were no longer designed to
handle such large expenses. The
global unification of the early years
of the twenty-first Century had seen
to that; major expenses came from
the United Nations treasury, to
which all nations contributed pro-
portionately. To Merrill, this resurg-
ence of national budgetary sovereign-
ty was an ominous sign. It was a re-

112

gression to the fierce nationalism of
the Nineteenth and Twentieth Cen-
turies. He feared that one regression
might lead to another, and ultimate-
ly to the most dreaded regression of
all — war.

The public in general began to
forget the entire dispute. Mars, after
all, was remote and unimportant to
the public, and, in any event, the
actual colonization was something
that concerned the next generation
more immediately than this one.
Apathy prevailed. Merrill himself,
though never did he lose sight of
the urgent need for some resolution
to the dilemma, no longer could af-
ford to dwell on the problem with
the same single-minded intensity he
had displayed in February and
March. It became a continuing but
subliminal source of worry for him,
like a mild toothache.

He was, therefore, hardly think-
ing about the problem at all when
he stumbled over the solution.

It was early in June. The General
Assembly, virtually through with its
agenda, was planning to adjourn in
a few days. The Security Council had
one minor item left on its schedule,
and then it, too, would adjourn.

Dane Merrill was busily making
plans for his vacation. He and Ellen
would fly to Yucatan for a month,
they had decided. There, among the
unspoiled remnants of a dead civiliz-
ation, it would be possible for them
to relax and forget some of the cares
of a living one. Merrill had one new
problem to consider: Secretary-jGen-

ASTOUNDING SCIENCE FICTION

eral St. Leger was making noises
about retiring, again.

St. Leger's term had another
year to run, and he was certain of
re-election if he wanted it; but St.
Leger, it seemed, had had enough of
diplomacy. At the age of sixty-seven,
he longed for his native Quebec.

Which left Merrill on the spot.
He was the logical choice as St. Leg-
er’s successor; for the last eight years
he had worked hand in glove with
the older man, and he was trusted
by all. But, Merrill knew, some time
in the near future the colonization
question would have to be resolved,
and the responsibility would be his
if he happened to be in office at the
time. Merrill had never shirked re-
sponsibility, but this was one situa-
tion that threatened to become
explosive. He was a modest man: he
seriously doubted that he would have
the inner resources necessary to pre-
vent the war that might so easily
develop over the terraforming-ver-
sus-pantropy issue. But he wondered
whether anyone else, St. Leger in-
cluded, could deal with such a situa-
tion if it arose.

In any event, that still lay in the
future. Now, in a few days, he would
be on vacation.

He would be able to relax.

That night, three days before the
Assembly was due to adjourn, the
Merrills were engaged in what was
for them a most unusual pastime.
They were watching the video set.
He and Ellen had grown tired of
reading, tired of listening to music
tapes, tired of all the diversions of

intelligent people. The strain of the
past few months had sapped the vi-
tality from them. Almost in despera-
tion, they flicked on the video, hop-
ing for relaxation.

The screen brightened. An unctu-
ous, oily voice said, "Very well, Mr.
Pulaski. You’ve hit the fifty thou-
sand dollar bracket, now. The choice
is yours — will you retire with what
you’ve got, or will you take a shot at
a hundred thousand? Double or
nothing, Mr. Pulaski. What do you
say?"

"Oh, dear,” Ellen exclaimed. "It’s
a quiz show ! We can find something
more interesting than — ”

"No,” Merrill interrupted in an
odd voice. "Leave it.”

Ellen shrugged. "If you say so,
Dane.”

The camera centered on an insig-
nificant man in a brown checked
suit — a small, puffy-faced man with
watery gray eyes and a few strands
of hair plastered to his scalp. The
man in the screen seemed frozen in
decision. Then he said, "I’ve done
O.K. so far. I think I’ll risk it.”
Pandemonium burst loose in the
studio audience. The announcer bel-
lowed raucously: "He’s going to do
it! Ladies and gentlemen, he’s going
for double or nothing ! T here’s a man
with faith in his intellectual abilities,
all right! Will ysu re-enter the iso-
lation booth, Mr. Pulaski?”

"Dane, please. Do we really need
to watch — ”

"One minute, Ellen.”

"For one hundred thousand dol-
lars, now,” said the announcer in

DEADLOCK

113

vibrant tones. "You have thirty sec-
onds to consider your reply. For one
hundred thousand dollars, Mr. Pu-
laski: can you name the first eight
rulers of the Carolingian Dynasty of
France?"

"Uh . . . Pepin the Short . . . then
Charlemagne ... ah, let’s see . . .
Louis I . . . wait a second, now, after
him comes Charles I — ”

With an abrupt motion Merrill
jabbed down on the remote-control
switch of the video, and the intent
face of Mr. Pulaski vanished as the
screen went dead. Ellen glanced up
in surprise.

"First you want to watch it, then
you shut it off at the most interesting
moment ! Dane, there are times when
I just don't understand- — ”

"I’ve got the answfer,” he broke
in. He felt a great inward calm. If
only they would listen to him,
now!

"You know the names of those
kings?”

"I don’t mean that. I’ve got the
answer! Where’s the phone? I've got
to call St. Leger right away:”

". . . Turning to the subject of
United Nations news, the topic of
planetary colonization, considered a
dead issue for this session since the
tabling motion on the eleventh of
April, is apparently very much alive
again. A closed committee meeting
to discuss new proposals has been
called by Secretary-General St. Leger
for tomorrow afternoon. Representa-
tives of East and West will be pres-
ent at the meeting, but no details

114

were forthcoming on the nature of
the new proposals.”

— video newscast, 6:11 p.m.
June 12, 2052.

There were seven men in the
small, simply-furnished private office
that Secretary -General St. Leger re-
served for private top-level confer-
ences of this sort. St. Leger and Dane
Merrill sat behind a low table, fac-
ing the others. In front of them and
to their left sat Wu, the chief Chi-
nese delegate to the U.N.,. and
Hwang, the head of the pantropy
project. At the other side of the room
sat U.N. Delegate Kennedy of the
United States, Michael Reed, and a
short, vigorous-looking man who was
Dr. Manly Halliburton, chief of op-
erations of the terraforming project.

It was a warm, almost murky mid-
June day. The room’s two air condi-
tioners purred steadily, but without '
any perceptible effect. A kind of-
fense humidity prevailed in the
room.

St. Leger, looking tired, rumpled,
and disheveled, said, "Gentlemen,
I’ve called you all together for one
final attempt at cracking the dead-
lock that now exists. Several days
ago, my colleague here, Mr. Merrill,
whom I believe you all know, came
to me with a set of new and intrigu-
ing propositions for settling the
crisis. I gave Mr. Merrill’s ideas care-
ful study, and have found that there
is validity in them.” St. Leger sighed
heavily. "In order to save time, gen<-
tlemen, and to insure absolute clarity
of communication, I intend to relin-

ASTOUNDING SCIENCE FICTIOJf

quish the chair of this meeting to
Mr. Merrill. Are there any objections
to my doing this? Good. Mr. Mer-
rill, you are now presiding.”

St. Leger was obviously relieved
at the opportunity to give his three
hundred pounds of bone and blubber
some rest. He sank back into his chair
and pointedly rolled it a foot back-
ward from the table. Merrill nodded.
He was in charge of the meeting.
He was no longer the loyal, efficient,
and anonymous Secretariat staffman.
He was in charge.

He scanned the faces — the two
enigmatic yellow ones, the three
tense, anticipatory white ones. He
moistened his lips. He said, "Gentle-
men, before we get down to specifics,
I'd like to establish one general point
of fact. We of the United Nations,
are we not, are directly responsible
to the peoples of the world. If we
act in a manner obviously not in the
best interests of humanity, we will
be replaced by others who have the
popular - interests more at heart. Is
there anyone here who would care
to deny this? Mr. Kennedy, you
were the one who made this point
quite clear to me at our little confer-
ence earlier this spring.”

No one spoke. All five were
fidgeting uncomfortably, wondering
what Merrill had in store for them.
Merrill went on: "We will consider
that point established. Very well: the
next point I wish to make is that it
is in the best interests of humanity
to extend our civilization to other
Worlds. I don’t think there’s any
need to demonstrate that particular

deadlock

115

argument with a set of syllogisms.

"To continue — we must establish
colonies on other worlds. But if the
present crisis continues we will never
succeed. Is this acting in the public
interest? Of course not! The con-
tending factions in this dispute are
acting magnificently in the service of
their own national interests — but are
doing a disservice to the more im-
portant cause of Earth. Therefore,
we must in all conscience find some
way to break the deadlock that now
prevails. I have several suggestions,
which Mr. St. Leger has approved.”

"Let’s hear them,” Michael Reed
grumbled. "Get to the point, will
you?”

Merrill restrained the impulse to
glare at the paunchy industrialist.
"All right. Point One; we must
colonize Mars immediately. And the
only method of colonization that we
can consider. I’m afraid, is terraform-
ing.”

The flat, dogmatic statement pro-
duced the expected result. Hwang’s
jaw drooped in astonishment, while
Wu went virtually livid with shock.
On the other side of the room, Ken-
nedy looked utterly startled, Halli-
burton was blinking in disbelief, and
Reed, recovering from his amaze-
ment, was beaming contentedly.

Then the stasis broke. Wu was on
his feet, exclaiming vehemently but
with massive self-control, "I must
ask for an explanation of this state-
ment, Mr. Merrill ! What you have
said is a slap in the face of the entire
Eastern world. Is this your idea of

116

compromise? To declare categorically
that your particular nation's method
must be used?”

Merrill said tiredly, "Please sit
down, Mr. Wu. No insult to the East
is intended, and I’ll explain as soon
as you’ll let me. My statement wasn’t
an expression of my alleged pro-
Western sympathies. I’m simply pro-
Earth, Mr. Wu. We of the Secretar-
iat have forced ourselves to place our
feelings above individual national
viewpoints, difficult though that
sometimes is.”

"May we have your explanation,
then?” Wu said, smoldering. "But
I warn you now that we have no in-
tention of surrendering in this man-
ner.”

"If you wouldn’t think of it as a
battle,” said Merrill, "you wouldn’t
have to fear surrender. But the ex-
planation is quite simple. Pantropy is
a great biological achievement — but
it would be political suicide for us
to sponsor it on Mars. Terraforming
is the only workable answer for that
planet.”

"I fail to see — ”

"The reason,” Merrill steam-
rollered. on, "is this. We are behold-
en to the peoples of the world for
our mandate to govern them and to
spend their money. This is an over-
crowded planet, Mr. Wu. According
to the 2050 census, Earth’s popula-
tion is almost nine and a quarter
billion. And though we’re making
progress on population control, fi-
nally, we’re still going to be faced
with problems of congestion and
overcrowding for centuries to come.

ASTOUNDING SCIENCE FICTION

Particularly, Mr. Wu, in the Eastern
half of the world.

"Very well. We are about to take
a giant step into space. We are about
to put human life on Mars. But sup-
pose we put pantropic life there, Mr.
Wu? A great biological achievement
— but does that make Mars accessible
to human pioneers? Certainly not. It
closes Mars forever to humanity !
What we need now, Mr. Wu, is a
world up there that will capture the
imagination of the nine billion peo-
ple of Earth. A world that the com-
mon 'man can see justification for
building. A world that offers oppor-
tunity for the pioneer, and a world
that offers hope for relief from over-
crowding. Not a world populated by
what would essentially be an alien
species of our own creation.

"We’ve overlooked this all along,
on both sides — that the average man
pays the bill, and calls the tune.
What I’m saying now, gentlemen, is
a reflection of the grim realities of
political life. Up till now we’ve been
debating this on a- pretty abstract
plane. It’s time to come down to the
ground and face the fact that if we
use pantropy to settle Mars, we’re
going to lose the sympathy and sup-
port of the people of Earth. And
your people, Mr. Wu, are going to
be the first to yell — because they
don’t give a damn about scientific
prestige, not down there on the dirt
level; they just want a place for
overflow people.

"Not for themselves, by the way
—by and large, 99-9% of the people
of Earth would rather do almost any-

deadlock

thing than have to go off and colo-
nize a terraformed Mars. But the
psychological fact remains that they
would think pioneering was a good
thing— for someone else. They would
back us. Spending money to terra-
form Mars would appeal to everyone.
Pantropy is subtler; it won’t go
over.”

"So,” Wu said slowly, "you ask
us to drop our proposal in the name
of sheer realpolitik?”

"Bluntly, yes,” Merrill said. "The
time has come to talk bluntly. We
have to win popular support if we
want to stay in office long enough
to get a space program going. We’ll
never win support if we vote pan-
tropy for Mars. It has to be terra-
forming.”

"The dilemma has two prongs,”
Wu said. "I grant that terraforming
is more likely to capture the popular
imagination than pantropy. But we
have backed our position strongly.
How can we abandon it now? It
seems that we are lost no matter
which way we turn.”

Merrill shook his head. "You
don’t have to abandon your position.
The last thing I’d like to happen is
the scrapping of pantropy. You see,
Mr. Wu, it’s my private feeling that
pantropy is potentially a much more
important scientific development
than terraforming.”

The sudden change of expression
on the faces of the three Westerners
was amusing. For the past five min-
utes they had sat complacently, smug
and contented because of Merrill’s

117

unexpected firm stand for terraform-
ing. But now he had yanked the rug
out from under them. They looked
stunned.

"Would you mind explaining that
statement, Mr. Merrill?” Reed de-
manded loudly.

"Certainly. Terraforming is a
process of limited value, useful only
when a world is basically similar to
Earth to begin with. You can alter
Mars’ climate and atmosphere— but
could you ever change Jupiter's
gravity or cope with Mercury’s ex-
tremes of temperature? I’m afraid
not.”

"Neither can Hwang and his pan-
tropists create beings who can stand
up to such conditions,” Halliburton
snapped.

"Not yet," Merrill said. "But the
concept of pantropy is an open-ended
one. It’s still new, but it has great
potential. Once you can make simple
genetic changes, you can go on to
learn how to make more complicated
ones. It’s going to be easier to rede-
sign human beings than to redesign
really non-Earthlike planets. So we
must continue pantropy research, and
back it with cash. Some day, we’ll be
traveling to the stars. We’ll find
planets out there, and they may not
be Earthlike planets. Pantropy will
be our only help then.”

"All very heartwarming,” Wu said
sourly. "But this does not solve the
problem of immediate saving of face.
I cannot explain to my people that
we have yielded rights to Mars in
return for the promise of the stars.
It is ... ah .. . too abstract a propo-

sition for them to accept gracefully.”

"I realize that," Merrill replied.
"And I’ve devised a second proposal.
In order to keep pantropy alive, we’ll
need double-or-nothing legislation —
authorizing colonization of both
Mars and Venus.”

Hwang protested, "But we are not
able to create pantropic forms for
Venus yet!”

"I know. I’ve spoken with pan-
tropists and terraformers, and I’ve
done some research besides. I've
learned that neither side thinks it
can handle the job of planting life
on Venus right now — although both
insist it can be done eventually, given
enough time and money. If you’ll
pardon me, Dr. Halliburton, I don’t
think it’s likely that terraforming
will ever be useful on Venus.” Cut-
ting off Halliburton’s reply, Merrill
added, "And also, that pantropy will
be applicable there only after decades
of continued progress. With terra-
forming and pantropy in their pres-
ent state of development, neither
science can handle the problem of
making Venus livable right now. But
both can.”

"Both?” said Hwang and Halli-
burton simultaneously.

"Yes. Both. The atmosphere of
Venus is too corrosive for humans to
breathe. And there’s no simple way
of converting that poisonous stew
into something humans could
breathe. On the other hand, pantropy
isn’t currently capable of developing
a race whose metabolic processes-
could get along without oxygen. But

118

ASTOUNDING SCIENCE FICTION

consider this, Doctors Hwang and
Halliburton: how about a co-opera-
tive project? Partial terraforming of
Venus, to an extent that would make
it livable for a species within the
abilities of pantropy to create?”

A look at the faces of the two sci-
entists told Merrill he had scored a
direct hit. "Meet halfway,” he went
on. "You’re each necessary, but not
individually sufficient, for establishing
life on Venus. We need to nurture
the fledgling science of pantropy.
And we need an inhabited Venus.
It would be an economic outlet, and
also a third point of view in the solar
system — the third vertex of a triangle
of inhabited worlds. Do you think
it could be done?”

"We could certainly try,” Halli-
burton admitted quietly.

"And I think we would succeed,”
Hwang added.

"Let me sum up, then,” Merrill
said. He was sweat-soaked and
nearly drained of energy. "The only
way to break the deadlock is with a
double-barreled bill. Mars must be
terraformed, to provide an imme-
diate population outlet and a means
of getting the public to approve what
we’re doing. Venus will be populated
by pantropic life forms, once the
terraformers have eased the way
there. And terraforming and pan-
tropy will work hand in hand from
now on. New techniques will be per-
fected. Information will be shared.
The spread of Earthmen throughout
the universe will be made possible.
Can we count on your support for
such legislation?”

deadlock

He stared at Kennedy. The tall
American squirmed, fidgeted, shrug-
’Yes,” he said finally.

Mr. Wu?” Merrill asked.

The Chinese knotted his delicate
fingers tightly in indecision. "It is
the only way, I suppose.”

Reed chuckled bitterly. "For a
while, at the beginning of this meet-
ing, I thought we had won. That it
would be terraforming all the way.
But I see that it isn’t really that way
at all. Actually we’ve lost, in the long
run. We’ve taken the first round,
that’s all.”

"Hardly,” Wu said. "It is we of
China who have lost. Mars will be
terraformed. We have been forced
to give ground.”

"No,” Merrill said sharply.
"You're dead wrong, both of you.
The only loser has been petty na-
tional pride. Individually, you can
each consider yourselves losers, if
you want to. But Earth is the real
winner!”

"We interrupt this program to
bring you a special bulletin from
United Nations Headquarters in
New York:

"The General Assembly today
adopted a resolution introduced joint-
ly by the United States and China
which brings to an end three months
of deadlocked discussion over pro-
posals for colonization of Mars.

"By a unanimous vote the Assem-
bly resolved to accept the Western
plan for converting Mars to a planet
livable for human beings, and ap-
propriated $180 billion for carrying

119

this out at once. At the same time,
the sum of $50 billion was approp-
riated as initial financing for a new
joint American-Chinese project for
establishing a race of adapted human
beings on Venus.

"Wu Hsien-fu, chief Chinese
U.N. delegate, issued a statement
shortly after the vote which said, in
part, 'It is wrong to talk of Ameri-
can goals or Chinese goals. The only
goals that matter are those of Earth.
And now a united Earth begins the
harmonious and peaceful conquest of
the universe!’ End quote.

"Further details will follow. We
return you now to the regularly
scheduled program.’’

— Broadcast over most video
networks, 5:49 p.m., June 13,
2052.

Restrained jubilation prevailed in
the private office of Hilaire St. Leg-
er, Secretary-General of the United
Nations. Only two men were present
at the celebration: St. Leger himself,
and Dane Merrill. The room was lit-
tered with cigarette ashes and pipe
dottle. It was an hour since the vote
had been taken. Neither Merrill nor
St. Leger really believed the result
yet.

St. Leger poured out a double tot
of brandy for each of them. The in-
dispensable bottle was nearly empty.
They toasted solemnly.

“They gave in," St. Leger said,
shaking his head. "I never thought
they would. But you handled it bril-
liantly.”

"I had my doubts all the way,”
12C

Merrill said. "After all, they both
had to back down. The East had to
abandon Mars to the terraformers,
and the West had to quit its stand of
opposing pantropy on principle.”

St. Leger sighed. "East and West,
West and East! Earth’s welfare is
what matters. Not West or East. Ah,
well. The session adjourns tomorrow,
Dane. It’ll be good to have a rest,
won’t it?”

"It sure will. Ellen and I are
spending a month in Yucatan. And
I guess you’ll be going back to Que-
bec for the summer, eh?”

"Not for the summer,” St. Leger
said in a quiet voice. "I’m going back
for good. I’ve submitted my resigna-
tion. I’m an old man, and I’m tired.”
"But — ”

”1 spoke to Kennedy and Wu just
after the vote today. I told them I’m
quitting. I also made a recommenda-
tion for a successor. They’ve tenta-
tively agreed to sponsor you for the
job, Dane. Which means the job's
yours, if you want it.”

"I see,” Merrill said gravely. The
pleasant glow of semi-inebriation
dimmed in an instant. A mantle of
responsibility had settled over his
shoulders. "I don’t see how I can re-
fuse. But . . . but . . . well, I hope
I’m worthy of the job,” he said
finally.

"If you weren’t, you wouldn’t be
getting- it.” St. Leger smiled and
glanced at his watch. "It’s past seven,
Dane. You’d better be getting home
to Ellen.”

"Yes. You’re right.”

Merrill rose and began to gather

ASTOUNDING SCIENCE FICTION

up his papers, to tidy his hair and
wipe some of the day's grime from
his face. St. Leger said in an intro-
spective voice, "I was bom in 1985,
Dane. Right in the middle of the
Nightmare Years. 'United Nations’
was just a collection of meaningless
syllables then. But I’ve lived long
enough to see it mean something.
When were you born, Dane?”

"2014.”

"Five years after the Treaty. So
you don’t really know what conflict
between nations can be.”

"I saw some of it this year,” Mer-
rill said.

St. Leger nodded, his big body
quivering. "Yes, you did. But we
shut it off before anything serious
developed. And now . . . now, Mars
and Venus.” St. Leger smiled.
"Dane, I was the first Secretary-Gen-
eral of the real United Nations.
You’re going to find yourself Secre-
tary-General of the United Worlds,
one of these days.”

I hope so. I hope everything
works out.”

"It will,” St. Leger said. "The old-
er I get, the more firmly I believe
that there’s some sort of force in the
universe that makes things work out
all right, eventually. You’ll have
your problems, of course. But you’ll
be able to handle them, Dane. I
know you will.”

THe old man leaned back and
closed his eyes — no longer Secretary-
General of the United Nations, but
just a tired, overweight old man who
had had somewhat too much to drink
in the past hour. Dane Merrill smiled
warmly at St. Leger. They shook
hands, perhaps for the last time.

Then the retiring Secretary-General
of the United Nations roused- him-
self and began clearing out his desk,
while the future Secretary-General of
the United Worlds went home to be-
gin the last vacation he was likely to
have for quite some time.

THE END

Deadlock

121

BY ERIC FRANK RUSSELL

tlluktraled by Frees

When you discover the laws
by which a system operates —
never buck them. Help them
the way they’re already going
— but help them your way!

122

ASTOUNDING SCIENCE FICTION

HAT burns me up,” said
Purcell bitterly, "is the
fact that one cannot get
anything merely on
grounds of dire neces-
sity”

"Yeah,” said Hancock, carrying on
with his writing.

"If one gets it at all,” continued
Purcell, warming to his subject, "it
is for a reason that has nothing what-
ever to do with need or urgency. One
gets it because and only because one
has carefully filled out the correct
forms in the correct way, got them
signed and countersigned by the
proper fatheads and submitted them
through the proper channels to the
proper people on Terra.”

"Yeah,” said Hancock, the tip of
his tongue moving in sympathy with
his pen.

"Yeah, yeah, yeah,” echoed Purcell
in somewhat higher tones. "Can’t you
say anything but yeah?”

Hancock sighed, ceased writing,
mopped his forehead with a sweaty
handkerchief. "Look, let’s do what
we’re paid for, shall we? Griping
gets us nowhere.”

"Well, what are we paid for?”
"Personally, I. think that pilots
grounded by injuries should be
found employment elsewhere. They
never settle down to routine work.”
"That doesn’t answer my ques-
tion.”

"We’re here upon Alipan, in the
newly settled system of B417,” in-
formed Hancock ponderously, "to
co-ordinate the inflow of essential
supplies, making the best use of cargo

space available. We are also here to
deal with internal demands for sup-
plies and assign priorities to them."

"Priorities my foot,” said Purcell.
He snatched up a form and flourished
it in midair. "What sort of priority
should be given to twenty-four cases
of gin?”

"If you bothered to look, you’d
see,” Hancock gave back. "Class B
import. I stamped it myself and you
initialed it.”

"I must have been momentarily
blind. Who says gin gets priority over
high-pressure oxygen flasks, for in-
stance?”

"Letheren.” Hancock frowned,
fiddled with his pen. "Mind you, I
don’t agree with it myself. I think it’s
an iniquity. But Letheren is a senior
official. As a pilot you may have
cocked many a snoot at senior officials
and got away with it. But you’re not
a pilot now. You’re just another desk-
squatter. As such you’d better learn
that it isn’t wise to thwart senior
officials. They get moved around and
up as more senior ones die of fatty
degeneration. In five, ten or fifteen
years’ time Letheren may be my boss.
By then I’ll be treading on his heels.
I won’t want him to turn around and
kick me in the teeth.”

"You really think that after all that
time he’d hold it against you because
you refused to bring in his gin?”
asked Purcell incredulously.

"No, I don’t. I’m bringing it in.
He’ll have no reason to gripe.”

"What a system!” said Purcell. He
glowered through the window at the
B417 sun. Its greenish hue made him

STUDY IN STILL LIFE

123

feel slightly sick. "I can see now
what I suspected years ago; space is
slowly but surely being conquered by
a few crazy coots not because of
Terra but in spite of Terra. It’s being
done by a small bunch of hotheads
who like to zoom around in rocket-
ships. They’re getting results in the
face of every handicap we can place
upon them.”

"Having been a pilot you’re preju-
diced in their favor,” said Hancock
defensively. "After all, somebody
has to do the paperwork.”

"I’d agree if the paperwork was
necessary and made sense.”

"If there wasn’t any paperwork,
we’d both be out of a job."

"You’ve got something there. So
on this planet there are two thou-
sands of us sitting on our fundaments
busily making work for each other.
In due time there’ll be five thousand,
then ten thousand.”

"I’m looking forward to it,” com-
mented Hancock, brightening. "It’ll
mean promotion. And the more sub-
ordinates we have the higher our own
status.”

"That may be so. I won’t take it
with an easy conscience but I’ll take
it just the same. Frail human flesh,
that’s me.” Purcell scowled at his
desk, went on, "Guess I’m not yet
old enough and cynical enough to
accept the general waste of time and
effort. There are moments when I
could go off with a very large bang.
This is one of them.”

Hancock, who had picked up his
pen, put it down again and asked re-

signedly, "Exactly what irks your
reformist spirit right now?”

"There’s a fellow here, a bugolo-
gist — ”

"An entomologist,” Hancock cor-
rected.

"You will kindly allow me to
choose my own words,” Purcell sug-
gested. "This bugologist wants a
cobalt-60 irradiation outfit. It weighs
three-eighty pounds.”

"What for?”

"To clear the Great Forest area of
a disease-carrying fly.”

"How’s he going to do that?”
"According to section- D7 of his
application form under the heading
of REASONS, he says that treated
male flies will effectively sterilize all
female flies with whom they mate.
Also that if he traps, irradiates and
frees enough males he can wipe out
the species. Also that several centuries
ago Terra got rid of screw-worm,
tsetse and other flies by precisely the
same method. He claims that he can
make the whole of the Great Forest
area inhabitable, exploitable and save
an unknown number of lives. There-
fore he asks for top priority.”

"That seems reasonable,” Hancock
conceded.

"You would give his dingus top
priority, eh?”

"Certainly. A Class A import.”
"That is real nice to know,” said
Purcell. "I am heartened to find
sweet reasonableness sitting behind a
desk and wearing oilskin pants.” He
slung the form across to the other.
"Some bead-brained four-eyes has
stamped it Class L. So this bugolo-

124

ASTOUNDING SCIENCE FICTION

gist won’t get his fly-killer for at
least another seven years.”

"It wasn't me,” protested Han-
cock, staring at it. "I remember this
one now. I got it about four months
ago and passed it to Rohm for his
approval.”

"Why?”

"Because he’s in charge of forest-
ry-''

"Holy cow!” said Purcell. "What
have flies got to do with forestry?”
"The Great Forest area is the re-
sponsibility of Rohm’s department.
Anything pertaining to it must be
passed to him.”

"And he’s stamped it Class'L. He
must be off his head.”

"We cannot assume inefficiency
in another department,” Hancock
pointed out. "There may be a thou-
sand and one things Rohm needs
more urgently. Medical supplies for
instance.”

"Yes, to cure people of the stag-
gers after being bitten by flies,” Pur-
cell riposted. "If space-scouts oper-
ated the way we work, they’d still be
preparing photostats of their birth
and marriage certificates in readiness
for an attempt on the Moon.” He
took the form back, eyed it with dis-
taste. "Letheren’s gin aggravates me.
I have always hated the stuff. It tastes
the same way a dead dog smells. If
he can wangle a dollop of booze, why
can’t we wangle a cobalt-60 irradia-
tor?”

"You can’t buck the system,” de-
clared Hancock. "Not until you’re
one of the top brass.”

“I’m bucking it as from now,”

Purcell announced. He reached for a
fresh form, started filling it in. "I’m
making a top priority demand for a
fly-killer for Nemo."

"Nemo?” Hancock looked stupi-
fied. "What’s that?”

Purcell waved a careless hand to-
ward the window. "The newly dis-
covered planet out there.”

Shoving back his chair, Hancock
waddled to the window and gazed
through it a long time. He couldn’t
see anything. After a while he came
back, puffed, mopped his forehead
again, reached for the intercom phone.
Purcell snapped, "Put that down !”
Letting go as if it were red-hot,
Hancock complained, "If they’ve
started operations on a new planet,
Collister’s department should have
notified us in the proper manner. 1
object to this sloppy method of pass
ing news along by word of mouth
during lunch-hour gossip. Essential
information should be transmitted in
writing and distributed to all the in-
dividuals concerned.”

"Collister’s crowd know nothing
about Nemo.”

"Don't they? Why not?”

"I just invented it,” said Purcell
evenly.

"You invented it?”

"That’s what I said.” Completing
the form, Purcell smacked it with a
huge red stamp bearing the letters TP.
then with a smaller one reading
Consign via Alipan B417. While
Hancock goggled at him he signed it
shoved it into the pneumatic tube
Within four minutes the radio

STUDY IN STILL LIFE

125

facsimile would be flashed Earthward.

Hancock said, aghast, "You must
be mad.”

"Crazy like a fox,” admitted Pur-
cell, undisturbed.

"They won't accept a requisition,
for an unregistered planet without
official advice of its discovery and
notification of its co-ordinates."

"The demand is an advice and I
included the co-ordinates."

"They’ll check on this," warned
Hancock.

-"With whom? The department for
Nemo?”

"There isn’t one,” said Hancock.

"Correct. They’ll have to check
with Yehudi.”

"They’ll find out sooner or later
that they’ve been taken. There will
be trouble. I want you to know, Pur-
cell, that I hereby disclaim all respon-
sibility for this. Officially I know
nothing whatever about it. It is sole-
ly and wholly your own pigeon.”

"Don’t worry. I’m willing to ac-
cept the full credit for a praiseworthy
display of initiative. Anyway, by that
time the bugologist will have got his
equipment and all the flies will be
dead.”

Hancock simmered down for five
minutes then took on a look of horror
as a new thought struck him. "If they
load three-eighty pounds of scientific
hardware, it’s highly likely that they
won’t load the gin.”

"That’s what I like about it.”

"Letheren will tun amok.”

"Let him,” said Purcell. "He
thinks he’s heap big. To me he’s just
a big heap.”

"Purcell, I will accept no respon-
sibility for this."

"So you said before.” Then he
added with some menace, "Always
bear one thing in mind, Hancock —
I don’t look as daft as I am!"

At Terra the indent landed on
Bonhoeffer’s desk, he being in charge
of the Incoming Mail (Pre-sorting)
Department. Bonhoeffer was a real
woman’s man, big, handsome, muscu-
lar, stupid. He owed his eminence
solely to the fact that while in ten
years the incoming mail had increased
by twelve per cent the number of his
subordinates had gone up one hun-
dred forty per cent. This was more
or less in accordance with the rules
laid down by Professor C. Northcote
Parkinson.*

Bonhoeffer "picked up the form
with much reluctance. It was the only
item on his desk. The slaves dealt
with everything as a matter of daily
routine and nothing was brought to
his personal attention unless there
was something awkward about it. This
suited him topnotch; it gave him
plenty of time not to think.

So he knew in advance that this
particular form contained the subject
of an administrative quibble and that
he must demonstrate his intelligence
by finding it alone and unaided. Slow-
ly and carefully he read it from top
to bottom four times. As far as he
could see there was nothing wrong
with it. This irritated him. It meant
that he must summon the individual
who had passed the invisible buck

♦Parkinson’s Law. circa 1958.

126

ASTOUNDING SCIENCE FICTION

and do him the honor of asking his
opinion.

He examined the form’s top left
corner to see who would be thus
honored. The initials scrawled
thereon were F. Y. That meant the
buck-passer was Feodor Yok. He
might have expected it. Yok was a
clever bum, an office show-off. He
looked like Rasputin with a crew-cut.
And he wore the knowing smirk of
a successful ambulance chaser. Bon-
hoeffer would rather drop dead than
ask Yok the time of day.

That made things difficult. He
studied the requisition another four
times and still it looked plenty good
enough to pass any determined fault-
finder, even Yok. Then it occurred
to him that there was an escape from
this predicament. He, too, could
transfer the grief, preferably to an
eager beaver. It was as easy as that.

Switching his desk-box, he order-
ed, "Send in Quayle.”

Quayle arrived with his usual
promptitude. He was built along the
lines of a starving jackrabbit and
tried to compensate for it with a
sort of military obsequiousness. He
wore a dedicated look and was the
sort of creep who would salute an
officer over the telephone.

"Ah, Quayle," began Bonhoeffer
with lordly condescension. "I have
been watching your progress with
some interest.”

"Really, sir?” said Quayle, toothy
with delight.

"Yes, indeed. I keep a careful eye
on everyone though I doubt whether
they realize it. The true test of

STUDY IN STILL LIFE

managerial competence is the ability
to depute responsibility. To do that
one must know and understand the
men under one. Naturally some are
more competent than others. You
gather my meaning, Quayle?”

"Yes, sir,” agreed Quayle, strain-
ing to expand his halo.

"Yok has seen fit- to bring this
requisition form to my attention.”
Bonhoeffer handed it over. "I was
about to transfer it for necessary
action when it occurred to me that it
would be useful to know whether the
question it raises is as obvious to you
as it was to Yok and myself, also
whether you can be as quick to deter-
mine what should be done about it.”
Quayle's halo faded from sight
while his face took on the look of a
cornered rat. In complete silence he
studied the form from end to end,
reading it several times.

Finally he ventured in uncertain
tones, "I can find nothing wrong
with it, sir, except that it is a demand
for Nemo. I don’t recall seeing that
planet upon the supply list.”

"Very good, Quayle, very good,”
praised Bonhoeffer. "And what do
you think should be done about it?”
"Well, sir,” continued Quayle,
vastly encouraged but still weak at
the knees, "since the requisition
emanates from Alipan, which is on
the list, I’d say that it is valid so far
as our department is concerned.
Therefore I would pass it to the sci-
entific division for confirmation of
the reasons given and the correctness
of the specification.”

"Excellent, Quayle. I may as well

127

say that you have come up to my
expectations.”

"Thank you, sir.”

"I am a great believer in giving
encouragement where it is deserved.”
Bonhoeffer bestowed a lopsided smile
upon the other. "Since you have the
form in your hands you may as well
deal with it. Yok brought it in but
I prefer that you handle it in person.”

"Thank you, sir,” repeated Quayle,
the halo bursting forth in dazzling
glory. He went out.

Bonhoeffer lay back and gazed with
satisfaction at the empty desk.

In due course — meaning about
three weeks — the scientific division
swore and deposed that there really
was such an article as a cobalt-60
irradiator and that it could in fact
cause flies to indulge in futile woo.
Quayle therefore attached this slight-
ly obscene certificate to the requisition
and passed it to the purchasing de-
partment for immediate attention.

He felt fully justified in doing this
despite that the mysterious Nemo
was still absent from the official sup-
ply list. After all, he had been au-
thorized by Bonhoeffer to take the
necessary action and the scientific
division had duly certified that there
was something with which to act. He
was covered both ways, coming and
going. In effect, Quayle was fire-
proof, a much-to-be-desired state of
existence.

The form and attached certificate
now got dumped on Stanisland, an
irascible character generally viewed
as the offspring of a canine mother.

128

Stanisland read them to the accom-
paniment of a series of rising grunts,
found himself in the usual quandary.
The purchasing department was sup-
posed to know the prime sources of
everything from peanuts to synthetic
hormones. To that end it had a ref-
erence library so large that a fully
equipped expedition was needed to
get anywhere beyond the letter F. The
library was used almost solely to
demonstrate frenzied overwork
whenever a high-ranking senior hap-
pened around, the safest place being
atop the ladder.

It was easier to ask the right ques-
tions in the right places than to go on
safari through a mile of books. More-
over Stanisland could admit ignorance
of nothing in a room full of compara-
tive halfwits. So he adopted his favor-
ite tactic. Scowling around to make
sure nobody was watching, he stuff-
ed the papers into a pocket, got up,
hoarsely muttered something about
the men’s room and lumbered out.

Then he trudged along three cor-
ridors, reached a bank of private
phone booths, entered one, dialed
the scientific division and asked for
Williams. He uttered this name with
poor grace because in his opinion
Williams had been designed by Na-
ture specifically to occupy a padded
cell.

When the other came on, he said,
"Stanisland, purchasing department,
here.”

"How's the bile flowing?” greeted
Williams, conscious that neither was
senior to the other.

Ignoring that, Stanisland went

ASTOUNDING SCIENCE FICTION

on, "You have issued certificate
D2794018 against a cobalt-60 irradi-
ator on demand by Alipan.”

"I don't take your word for it,”
said Williams. "Give me that num-
ber again and wait while I trace the
copy.”

Stanisland gave it and waited. He
stood there about ten minutes know-
ing full well that Williams was tak-
ing one minute to find the copy and
allowing him the other nine in which
to grow a beard. But he was impotent
to do anything about it. Finally Wil-.
liams came back.

"My, are you still there?” he ask-
ed in mock surprise. "Things must
be ’pretty quiet in your department.”
"If we were as bone-idle as other
departments, we’d have no need to
consult them,” shouted Stanisland.
"We’d have all the time in the world
to dig up information for ourselves.”
"Aha!” said Williams, nastily
triumphant. "You don’t know where
to get an irradiator, eh?”

"It isn’t a question of not know-
ing,” Stanisland retorted. "It’s a
question of saving time finding out.
If I search under C for cobalt, it
won’t be there. It won’t be under I
for irradiator either. Nor under S for
sixty. In about a week’s time I’ll dis-
cover that it’s under H because the
correct technical name for it is a
hyperdiddlic honey or something like
that. Things would be a lot easier if
you eggheads would make up your
minds to call a spade a plain, ordinary
spade and stick to it for keeps.”
"Shame,” said Williams.

"Furthermore,” continued Stanis-
land with satisfying malice, "every
alleged up-to-date supplement to the
library comes to us seven years old.
Why? Because your crowd keep ’em
on file and won’t part until they begin
to stink.”

"We need them to stay up-to-date
ourselves,” Williams pointed out.
"The scientific division cannot afford
to be behind the times.”

"There you are then,” said Stanis-
land,- winning his point. "I don’t
want to know who was making rudi-
mentary irradiators way back when
television was two-dimensional. I
want to know who is making them
now. And I don’t want to put in to
Abelson an official complaint about
delayed data and willful obstruc-
tion.”

"Are you threatening me, you
baggy-eyed tub?” asked Williams.

Stanisland started shouting again.
“I don’t want to touch Abelson with
a ten-foot pole. You know what he’s
like.”

"Yeah, I know, I know.” Williams
let go a resigned sigh. "Hold on a
piece.” This time he was gone twelve
minutes before he returned and re-
cited a short list of names and
addresses.

Reaching his desk, Stanisland re-
wrote the list more clearly, attached
it to the form and certificate, passed
the bunch to a junior.

In tones hearable- all over the
office, he said, "It’s a lucky thing that
I had the handling of this demand.
It so happens that I know all the
people who make such a rare piece

STUDY IN STILL LIFE

129

of apparatus. Now you get their esti-
mates as quickly as possible and sub-
mit them to me.”

Then he glared happily around at
all and sundry, enjoying their dead
faces and knowing that they were
hating him deep in their hearts. By
hokey, he’d shown them who most
deserved to be jacked up a grade.

Forman Atomics quoted the lowest
price and quickest delivery. A month
later they got a request for copy of
their authorization as an approved
supplier. They mailed it pronto. Three
days afterward they were required to
send a sworn affidavit that their em-
ployees included not less than ten

130

per cent of disabled spacemen. They
sent it. Two intelligence agents
visited their head office and satisfied
themselves that the flag flying from
the masthead was a genuine Terran
one in substance and in fact.

Meanwhile a subordinate from the
Finance (Investigation) Department
made search through the files of the
Companies (Registered Statistics)
Department aided by two juniors be-
longing to that haven of rest. Be-
tween them they made sure that not
one dollar of Forman stock was held
or controlled by the representative
of any foreign power, either in per-
son or by nominee. Admittedly,
there was no such thing in existence

ASTOUNDING SCIENCE FICTION

as a foreign power but that was be-
side the point.

By now the original requisition
had attached to it the following:

1. The scientific division’s certifi-
cate.

2. An interdepartmental slip signed
by Quayle informing Stanisland that
the requisition was passed to him for
attention.

3. A similar slip signed by Bon-
hoeffer saying that he had ordered
Quiyle to do the passing.

4 to 11. Eight quotations for art
irradiator, Forman's having been
stamped: "Accepted subject to proc-
ess.”

12. A copy of Forman’s supply
authorization.

13. Forman’s affidavit.

14. An intelligence report to the-
effect that whatever was wrong with
Forman’s could not be proved.

15. A finance department report
saying the same thing in longer
words.

Item twelve represented an old and
completely hopeless attempt to buck
the system. In the long, long ago
somebody had made the mistake of
hiring a fully paid-up member of
Columbia University’s Institute of
Synergistic Statics. Being under the
delusion that a line is the shortest
distance between two points, the
newcomer had invented a blanket-
system of governmental authoriza-
tions which he fondly imagined would
do away with items thirteen, fourteen
and fifteen.

This dastardly attempt to abolish
three departments at one fell blow .

had gained its just reward; a new
department had been set up to deal
with item twelve while the others
had been retained. For creating this
extra work the author of it had been
hastily promoted to somewhere in the
region of Bootes.

Stanisland added the sixteenth item
in the shape of his own interdepart-
mental slip informing Taylor, the
head of the purchasing department,
that to the best of his knowledge and
belief there were no remaining ques-
tions to be raised and that it was now
for him to place the order. Taylor,
who had not been born yesterday,
showed what he thought of this in-
decent haste. Throwing away the
overstrained paper-clip, he added his
own slip to the wad, secured it with
a wide- jawed bulldog fastener and
fired it back at Stanisland.

The slip said, "You are or should
be well aware that a consignment of
this description may not be within
the capacity of the Testing (Instru-
ments) Department. If it is not, we
shall require a certificate of efficiency
from the Bureau of Standards. Take
the necessary action forthwith.”

This resulted in Stanisland taking
a fast walk around the corridors
while the surplus steam blew out of
his ears. He had never liked Taylor
who obviously enjoyed his seniority
and would turn anyone base over apex
for the sadistic pleasure of it. Besides,
in his spare time the fellow lived the
full life hreeding piebald mice. With
his beady eyes and twitching whiskers
he bore close resemblance to his be-
loved vermin.

STUDY IN STILL LIFE

131

When pressure had dropped to the
bearable, Stanisland returned to his
desk, called a junior and gave him
the wad plus a slip reading, "Can you
test this thing?”

Within ten days all the papers
came back accompanied by the reply.
"For emission only. Not for func-
tional purpose. To test for the latter
we would require, an adequate supply
of the proposed subjects, namely and
to wit, Nemo flies. Refer to Imports
(Pest Control) Department.”

So he phoned through to Chase
who was sunbathing by a window
and brought him back to his desk and
Chase said with unnecessary surliness,
"Importation forbidden.”

"Can you quote authority for
that?” asked Stanisland.

"Certainly," snapped Chase. "See
the Bacteriological Defense Act, vol-
ume three titled Alien Insects, sub-
section fourteen under heading of
Known Or Suspected Disease Car-
riers. I quote — ”

"You needn’t bother,” said Stanis-
land hastily. "I’ve got to have it in
writing anyway.”

"All right. Give me those refer-
ence numbers again and I’ll send you
a documentary ban.”

"I don’t see how the testing de-
partment is going to cope in these
circumstances.”

"That’s their worry, not yours,”
advised Chase. "Be your age!”

In due time — meaning another
three weeks — Chase’s prohibition ar-
rived properly stamped, signed and
countersigned. It got added to the
growing bunch. Stanisland was now

132

faced with the very serious question
of whether a mere test for emission
was adequate and in accordance with
the rules. To resolve it one way or
the other meant reaching A Decision.
And that could be done only by an
official in A Position Of Responsi-
bility.

Yeah, Taylor.

At the prospect of consulting Tay-
lor a great sorrow came upon him.
It would imply that he, Stanisland,
couldn’t summon up the nerve. But
the alternative was far worse, namely,
to exceed his authority. He blanched
at the thought of it.

For two days Stanisland let the pa-
pers lie around while he tried to think
up some other way out. There was no
other way. If he dumped the wad on
Taylor’s desk during his absence and
then went sick, Taylor would hold
the lot pending his return. If he
transferred the file to the next depart-
ment, it would be bounced back with
malicious glee plus a note pointing to
the lack of an order. Obviously he
had to see Taylor. He had nothing
to fear but fear itself.

Finally he steeled himself, march-
ed into Taylor’s office, gave him the
documents and pointed to the last
two items.

"You will see, sir, that an adequate
test cannot be performed because of
an import restriction.”

"Yes, my dear Stanisland,” said
Taylor, courteous in a thoroughly
aggravating manner. "I suspected
some such difficulty myself.”

Stanisland said nothing.

ASTOUNDING SCIENCE FICTION

"I am somewhat surprised that you
failed to anticipate it,” added Taylor
pointedly.

"With all respect, sir, I have a lot
of work to do and one cannot fore-
see everything.”

"I am more impressed by efficiency
than by apologies,” commented Tay-
lor in sugar-sweet tones. "And so far
as- I am concerned the test of effi-
ciency is the ability to handle poten-
tially controversial matters in such a
manner that this department, when
called upon to do so, can produce
documentary justification for every-
thing it has done. In other words, so
long as there are no routine blunders
within our own department it is not
our concern what mistakes may be
made in other departments. Do you
understand me, my dear Stanis-
land ?”

"Yes, sir,” said Stanisland with
bogus humility.

"Good !” Taylor lay back, hooked
thumbs in armholes, eyed him as if
he were a piebald mouse. "Now, have
you brought the order in readiness
for my signature?”

Stanisland went purple, swallowed
hard. "No, sir.”

"Why haven't you?”

"It appeared to me, sir, that it
would first be necessary to obtain
your ruling on whether or not a test
for emission is sufficient.”

"My ruling?” Taylor raised his
eyebrows in mock surprise. "Have
you taken leave of your senses? I do
not make decisions for other depart-
ments, surely you know that?”
"Yes, sir, but — ”

STUDY IN STILL LIFE

"Anyone with the moral fortitude
to look a fact in the face,” interrupt-
ed Taylor, tapping the papers with a
long, thin forefinger, "can see that
here we have a written statement
from the appropriate department to
the effect that this piece of apparatus
can be tested. That is all we require.
The question of how it is tested or
for what it is tested does not concern
us in the least. We have enough re-
sponsibilities of our own without ac-
cepting those properly belonging to
other departments.”

"Yes, sir,” agreed Stanisland, not
inclined to argue the matter.

"Already there has been far too
much delay in dealing with this re-
quisition,” Taylor went on. "The de-
mand is now almost a year old. Dis-
graceful!”

"I assure you, sir, that it is not
my — ”

"Cut out the excuses and let me
see some action.”

"You wish me to write out the
order at once, sir?”

"No, you need not bother. Go get
your order book, give it to my secre-
tary and tell her that I wish to deal
with it personally."

"Very well, sir.” Stanisland de-
parted sweating a mixture of ire and
relief.

Finding the order book, he took
it to the secretary. She was a frozen-
faced female who never lost an op-
portunity to admire his ignorance.
She was named Hazel, after a nut.

On the face of it something had
now been accomplished. A gadget

133

had been demanded, the demand had
been checked, counterchecked and
approved, estimates had been obtained
and the order placed. It remained for
Forman- Atomics to supply the irradi-
ator, the Testing Department to test
it, the Shipping (Outward) Depart- '
ment to authorize dispatch to Alipan
and the Loading (Space Allocation)
Department to put it aboard the right
ship.

True, a dozen more departments
had yet to handle the growing mass
of papers which by now had attained
the dignity of a box-file. Between
them they’d fiddle around for an-
other two years before the wad was
reluctantly consigned to the morgue
of the Records (Filing) Department.
But all these were strictly post-ship-
ment departments; the days, weeks
and months they spent playing with
documents did not matter once the
consignment was on its way. Any
irate hustle-up note from the top
brass in Alipan could now be answer-
ed, curtly and effectively, with the
bald statement that Action Had
Been Taken.

Stanisland therefore composed his
soul in bilious peace, satisfied that he
had hurdled an awkward obstacle to
the accompaniment of no more than
a few raspberries from Taylor, He
gained some compensation for the
latter by reminding everyone in the
office that he was peculiarly qualified
to advise on rare apparatus without
first getting himself lost in the library.
Having instilled that fact in their
minds he carried on with routine
work and began gradually to forget

134

the subject. But he was not left in
peace for long.

In more than due time — meaning
at least twice three weeks — his tele-
phone shrilled and a voice said, "This
is Keith of Inspection Department.”
"Yes?” responded Stanisland
warily. He had never heard of Keith,
much less met him.

"There's a difficulty here,” con-
tinued Keith, smacking his lips. "I
have been on to Loading about it and
they've referred me to Shipping
who’ve referred me to Testing who’ve
referred me to Purchasing. I see by
the papers that the order was placed
by Taylor but that you did the proc-
essing.”

"What’s wrong?” asked Stanisland,
immediately recognizing the swift
passing of an unwanted buck.

"The manifest of the Star fire in-
cludes a thing called a cobalt-60 ir-
radiator for delivery to Alipan. It has
been supplied by Forman Atomics
against your department’s order num-
ber BZ12-10127.”

"What of it?”

"Testing Department has issued a
guarantee that emission is satisfac-
tory,” Keith continued. "You know
what that means.”

Stanisland hadn't the remotest
notion of what it meant but was not
prepared to say so. He evaded the
point by inquiring, "Well, what has
it to do with this department?”

"It has got plenty to do with some
department,” Keith retorted. "They
can’t all disclaim responsibility.”
Still feeling around in the dark,
Stanisland said carefully, "I may have

ASTOUNDING SCIENCE FICTION

to take this to Taylor or even to
Abelson. They will insist on me re-
peating your complaint in exact
terms. Is there any reason why you
can’t send it round in writing?”
"Yes,” said Keith. "There isn't
time. The ship takes off this evening.”
"All right. Exactly what do you
want me to tell Taylor?”

Keith fell into the trap and in-
formed, "This cobalt-60 contraption
cannot have satisfactory emission
without being radioactive. Therefore
it comes under the heading of Nox-
ious Cargo. It cannot be shipped by
the Starfire unless we are supplied
with a certificate to the effect that it
is properly screened and will not con-
taminate adjacent cargo.”

"Oh!” said Stanisland, feeling yet
again that the only thing between
him and the top of the ladder was
the ladder.

"Such a certificate should have been
supplied in the first place,” added
Keith, drowning his last spark of
decency. "Somebody slipped up. I’m
holding a wad three inches thick and
everything’s here but that.”

Annoyed by this, Stanisland bawl-
ed, "I fail to see why the production
of a non-contaminatory certificate
should be considered the responsi-
bility of this department.”

"Testing Department say they
offered to check for emission only
and that you accepted this,” Keith
gave back. "The documents show
that their statement is correct. I have
them here before my very eyes.”
"That is sheer evasion,” maintain-
ed Stanisland. "It is your job to make

STUDY IN STILL LIFE

them take back the apparatus and
check it for screening.”

"On the contrary," shot back
Keith, "it is not, never has been and
never will be my job to make good
the. shortcomings of other depart-
ments. The Starfire takes off at ten
tonight. No certificate, no shipment.
Sort it out for yourself.” He cut off,
effectively preventing further argu-
ment.

Stanisland brooded over the injus-
tice of it before he went to see Taylor
again, this time looking like hard
luck on two feet. Taylor responded
by meditating aloud about people who
could not paint a floor without ma-
rooning themselves in one corner.
Then he grabbed the phone and spent
ten minutes swapping recriminations
with Jurgensen of Testing Depart-
ment. Jurgensen, a confirmed bache-
lor, flatly refused to hold the baby.

Giving the waiting Stanisland an
evil stare, Taylor now tried to foist
the problem onto the Scientific Divi-
sion. All he got for his pains was a
piece of Williams’ mind, the piece
with the hole in. Muttering to him-
self, he phoned Keith who promptly
gave him the merry ha-ha and repeat-
ed in sinister tones his remark about
no certificate, no shipment.

Finally Taylor thrust the phone
aside and said, "Well, my dear Stan-
island, you have made a nice mess
of this.”

"Me?” said Stanisland, paralyzed
by the perfidy of it.

"Yes, you.”

This was too much. Stanisland

135

burst out, "But you approved the or-
der and tended to it yourself.”

"I did so on the assumption that
all routine aspects of the matter had
been seen to with the efficiency that
I expect from my subordinates. Evi-
dently my faith was misplaced.”
"That is hardly fair judgment, sir,
because — ”

"Shut up!” Taylor ostentatiously
consulted his watch. "We have seven
hours before the Slarfire leaves.
Neither the Testing Department nor
the Scientific Division will issue the
document Keith requires. We have
no authority to provide one ourselves.
But one must be got from somewhere.
You realize that, don’t you, Stanis-
land?”

"Yes, sir.”

"Since you are directly responsible
for this grave omission it is equally
your responsibility to make it good.
Now go away and exercise your im-
agination, if you have any. Come back
to me when you have incubated a
useful idea.”

"I cannot forge a certificate, sir,”
Stanisland protested.

"It has not been suggested that you
should,” Taylor pointed out acidly.
"The solution, if there is one, must
be in accordance with regulations and
not open to question by higher au-
thority. It is for you to find it. And
don’t be too long about it.”

Returning to his desk, Stanisland
flopped into his chair and chased his
brains around his skull. The only re-
sult was a boost to his desperation.
He gnawed his fingers, thought furi-
ously and always arrived at the same

136

result; nobody, but nobody would
produce anything in writing to cover
up a blunder in another department.

After some time he went for a
walk to the phone booths where he
could talk in private, called the sci-
entific division and asked for Wil-
liams.

"Williams," he said oilily, "I was
there when Taylor baited you an hour
ago. I didn’t like his attitude.”
"Neither did I,” said Williams.
"You have been of great help to
us on many occasions,” praised Stan-
island with an effort. "I’d- like you
to know that I genuinely appreciate
it even if Taylor doesn’t.”

"It’s most kind of you to say so,”
informed Williams, letting go a
menacing chuckle. "But you still
won’t cajole from this department a
document we are not authorized to
give.”

"I am not trying to do so,” Stanis-
land assured. "I wouldn’t dream of
it.”

"Taylor tried. He must think we’re
a bunch of suckers.”

"I know,” said Stanisland, grate-
fully seizing the opportunity thus
presented. “To be frank, I wondered
whether you’d be willing to help me
give Taylor a smack in the eye.”
"How?”

"By coming up with some sugges-
tion about how I can get over this
noxious cargo business.”

"And why should that have the
effect of twisting Taylor’s arm?”

"He thinks he’s got me where he
wants me. I’d like to show him he

ASTOUNDING SCIENCE FICTION

hasn’t. Some of these seniors need
teaching a thing or two.” He paused,
added craftily, "Abelson for in-
stance.”

The effect of that name in the
other’s ears clinched the deal and
Williams said without a moment’s
hesitation, "All right, I’ll tell you
something.”

"What is it?” asked Stanisland
eagerly.

"No reputable outfit such as For-
man’s would ship a radioactive appa-
ratus inadequately screened. Probably
seventy per cent of that irradiator’s
weight is attributable to screening.
Ask Forman’s and they’ll tell you —
in writing.”

"Williams,” said Stanisland de-
lightedly. "I’ll never forget this.”

"You will," contradicted Williams.
"But I won’t.”

Stanisland now phoned Forman’s
and explained the position in com-
plete detail. Their response was
prompt: they would prepare a writ-
ten guarantee of safety and deliver
it by special messenger to Keith
within two hours. Stanisland sighed
with heartfelt relief. Seemed there
were times when the efficiency of
private industry almost approached
that of bureaucracy.

Over the next few days Stanisland
waited with secret pleasure for a call
from Taylor. It never came. Un-
known to him, Taylor had phoned
Keith to find out what had happen-
ed, if anything. Taylor then realized
that an interview with Stanisland
would permit that worthy a moment
of petty triumph. It was unthinkable

STUDY IN STILL LIFE

137

that a senior should permit a subor-
dinate to gloat. He would summon
Stanisland into his presence when
and only when he had some pretext
for throwing him to the crocodiles.
So Stanisland went on waiting, first
with growing disappointment, then
with dull resignation, finally with
forgetfulness.

The weeks rolled on while the wad
of papers crawled through various
offices and gained in mass at each
desk. Then one day it reached the
Documents (Final Checking) De-
partment. It now weighed five pounds
and was solid with words, figures,
stamps, names and signatures.

From this mountain of evidence
some assiduous toiler dug out the
strange word Nemo. His nose started
twitching. He made a few discreet
inquiries and satisfied himself that
(a) someone had blundered and (b)
the cretin was not located within his
own office. Then he steered the wad
toward the Spatial Statistics Depart-
ment.

Far away on Alipan a copy of the
Starfire’s manifest landed on Han-
cock’s desk. He scanned it carefully.
Most of the stuff had been demanded
three to four years ago. But he had
a very good memory and the moment
his eyes found an irradiator the
alarm-bells rang in his brain. He was
swift to give the list to Purcell.

"You’d better deal with this.”

"Me? Why? You got writer’s
cramp or something?"

"The ship is bringing an expensive
present for a planet that doesn’t

138

exist. I don’t handle consignments
for imaginary worlds.”

"Windy, eh?" said Purcell.

"Sane,” said Hancock.

Examining the manifest, Purcell
grumbled, "It’s taken them long
enough. Nobody broke his neck to
get it here. If scout-pilots moved at
the same pace, Lewis and Clarke
would still be pounding their dogs
along the Oregon Trail.”

"I am," announced Hancock, "sick
and tired of the subject of scout-
pilots."

"And where would you have been
without them?”

"On Terra.”

"Doing what?”

"Earning an honest living,” said
Hancock.

"Yeah — filling forms;” said Pur-
cell.

Hancock let it slide and pretended
to be busy.

"Now this is where our right to
determine priorities reaches its peak
of usefulness,” Purcell went on,
flourishing the manifest as if it were
the flag of freedom. "We issue an
overriding priority in favor of our
bugologist, his need being greater
than Nemo’s. The fly-killer will then
be transferred to him without argu-
ment because nobody questions a
proper form, properly filled, proper-
ly stamped and properly signed. Thus
we shall have served humanity faith-
fully and well.”

"You can cut out every ’we’ and
’our,’ ” ordered Hancock. "I am hav-
ing nothing to do with it." He put
on another brief imitation of over-

ASTOUNDING SCIENCE FICTION

work, added as an afterthought, "I
told you before, you can't buck the
system.”

"I have bucked it.”

"Not yet,” said Hancock positively.

Taking no notice, Purcell made
out the priority, stamped it, signed
it, studied it right way up and up-
side-down, signed it again.

"I've forged your signature. Do
you mind?”

"Yes,” yelled Hancock.

"I am receiving you loud and
clear.” Purcell examined the forgery
with unashamed satisfaction. "Too
bad. It’s done now. What's done can’t
be undone.”

"I’d like you to know, Purcell, that
in the event of that document being
challenged I shall not hesitate to de-
clare my signature false.”

"Quite a good idea,” enthused
Purcell. "I’ll swear mine is false
also.”

"You wouldn’t dare,” said Han-
cock, appalled.

"It’ll take ’em at least ten years
to figure who’s the liar and even then
they couldn’t bet on it,” continued
Purcell with indecent gusto. "In the
meantime I’ll suggest that maybe
every document of Alipan’s and half
of Terra’s have phony signatures
attributable to subordinates by-passing
their seniors in order to avoid criti-
cisms and conceal mistakes. The re-
sulting chaos ought to create work for
ten thousand checkers.”

"You’re off your head,” declared
Hancock.

"Well, you can keep me comp-
any,” Purcell suggested. He exhibited

STUDY IN STILL LIFE

the manifest at distance too far for
the other to read. "I’ve got news for
you.”

"What is it?”

"No gin.”

Hancock sat breathing heavily for
quite a time, then said, "You’re to
blame for that.”

"Nuts! I’ve no say in what Terra
loads on or leaves off.”

"But—”

"If you’ve told me once,” Purcell
went on remorselessly, "you’ve told
me a hundred times that in no cir-
cumstances whatever will any depart-
ment on Alipan accept responsibility
for decisions made on Terra. Cor-
rect?”

"Corect,” agreed Hancock as
though surrendering a back tooth.

"AH right. You ordered the gin
and can prove it. You gave it high
priority and can prove it. You’re
armor-plated front and back. All you
need do is go see Letheren and say,
'Sorry, no gin.’ When he zooms and
rotates you say, ’Terra!’ and spit. It’s
so easy a talking poodle could do it.”

"I can hardly wait to watch you get
rid of Nemo the same way,” said
Hancock, making it sound sadistic.

"Nobody has said a word about
Nemo. Nobody is the least bit curi-
ous about Nemo. Finally I, James
Walter Armitage Purcell, could not
care less about Nemo.”

"You will,” Hancock promised.

In due time — which on Alipan
attained the magnitude of about three
months — the intercom speaker
squawked on the wall and a voice

139

harshed, "Mr. Purcell of Requisi-
tioning (Priorities) Department will
present himself at Mr. Vogel’s office
at eleven hours.”

Hancock glanced at his desk clock,
smirked and said, "You’ve got exactly
thirty-seven minutes.”

"For what?”

"To prepare for death.”

"Huh?”

"Vogel is a high-ranker with
ninety-two subordinates. He controls
four departments comprising the
Terran Co-ordination Wing.”

"What of it?"

"He makes a hobby of personally
handling all gripes from Terra. Any-
one summoned by Vogel is a gone
goose unless he happens to be hold-
ing the actual documentary proof of
his innocence in his hot little
hands.”

"Sounds quite a nice guy,” Purcell
commented, unperturbed.

"Vogel,” informed Hancock, "is a
former advertising man who got flat-
footed toting his billboard around the
block. But he’s a natural for routine
rigmarole. He’s climbed high on the
shoulders of a growing army of un-
derlings and he’s still climbing.” He
paused, added emphatically, "I don’t
like him.”

"So it seems,” said Purcell dryly.

"A lot of people don’t like him.
Letheren hates the sight of him.”

"That so? I don’t suppose he’s
choked with esteem for Letheren
either, eh?”

"Vogel loves nothing but power —
which in this racket means seniority.”

"Hm-m-m!" Purcell thought a bit,

140

went out, came back after twenty
minutes, thought some more.

"Where’ ve you been?” asked Han-
cock.

"Accounts Department."

"Getting your pay while the going
is good?”

"No. I have merely satisfied myself
that one hundred and five equals
seventeen hundred.”

"It wouldn’t save you even if it
made sense.” Hancock continued to
busy himself with nothing and kept
one eye on the clock. When the mo-
ment arrived he said, "On your way.
I hope you suffer.”

"Thanks.”

Opening his desk Purcell extracted
an enormous roll of paper, tucked it
under one arm. He tramped out,
found his way to the rendezvous, en-
tered the office. Vogel, dark-eyed,
dark-haired and 'swarthy, studied him
without expression.

"Sit down, Purcell.” He bared
long, sharp teeth and somehow man-
aged to look like Red Riding Hood’s
grandmother. "Terra has brought to
my attention a demand originating
from a planet named Nemo.”

"That, sir, is — ”

Vogel waved an imperious hand.
"Please be silent, Purcell, until I
have finished. Your own remarks can
come afterward.” Again the teeth.
"A lot of very valuable time has
been spent checking on this. I like
to have all the facts before interview-
ing the person concerned."

"Yes, sir,” said Purcell, nursing
his roll of paper and looking suitably
impressed.

ASTOUNDING SCIENCE FICTION

• "I have found firstly that Terra’s
statement is quite correct; such a de-
mand was in fact made and you proc-
essed it. Secondly, that the subject of
the demand, an. irradiator, was trans-
ferred by you to an address upon this
planet. Thirdly, that no planet dis-
covered before or since the date of
this demand has been officially given
the name of Nemo.” He put hands
together in an attitude of prayer.
"One can well imagine the trouble
and exasperation caused on Terra. I
trust, Purcell, that you have a thor-
oughly satisfactory explanation to
offer.”

"I think I have, sir,” assured Pur-
cell glibly.

"I’ll he glad to hear it.”

"The whole bother is due to some-
one on Terra jumping to the errone-
ous and unjustifiable conclusion that
Nemo is the name of a planet when
in fact it is a code word used by my
department to indicate a tentative
priority as distinct from a definite
one.”

"A tentative priority?” echoed
Vogel, raising sardonic eyebrows.
"What nonsense is this? Don't you
realize, Purcell, that all demands
must be rated strictly in order of
importance or urgency and that there
is no room for indecision? How can
anything have a tentative priority?”

“I find it rather difficult to tell you,
sir,” said Purcell, radiating self-
righteousness.

"I insist upon an explanation,”
Vogel gave back.

Assuming just the right touch of

pain and embarrassment, Purcell in-
formed, "Since cargo-space is severely
limited the problem of granting
priorities is a tough one. And when
a senior official practically orders my
department to assign to his demand
a priority higher than it deserves it
follows that, if we obey, something,
else of similar weight or bulk must
accept lower priority" than it de-
serves. But regulations do not permit
me to reduce the status of a high-
priority demand. Therefore I am
compelled to give it a tehtative prior-
ity, meaning that it will gain its
proper loading-preference . providing
nobody chips in to stop it.”

A gleam came into Vogel’s eyes.
"That is what happened in this case?”
"I’m afraid so, sir.”

"In other words, you claim that
you are suffering unwarranted inter-
ference with the work of your de-
partment?”

"That,” said Purcell with becom-
ing reluctance, "is putting it a little
stronger than I’d care to do.”

"Purcell, we must get to the bot-
tom of this and now is not the time
to mince words. Exactly what were
you ordered to ship at high priority?”
"Gin, sir.”

"Gin?" A mixture of horror and
incredulity came into Vogel's face.
But it swiftly faded to be replaced by
a look of suppressed triumph, "Who
ordered you to bring in gin?”

"I’d rather not say, sir.”

"Was it Letheren?”

Purcell said nothing but assumed
the expression of one who sorrows
for Letheren’s soul.

STUDY IN STILL LIFE

141

Gratified by this, Vogel purred. He
rubbed his hands together, became
positively amiable. "Well, Purcell, it
appears to me that you have been
guilty of no more than a small over-
sight. Should you find it necessary to
employ code-words as a matter of
administrative convenience it is ob-
vious that Terra should be notified
through the proper channels. With-
out regular notification Terra would
eventually find itself trying to cope
with incomprehensible jargon. An
impossible situation as doubtless you
now appreciate, eh, Purcell?"

"Yes, sir,” said Purcell, humble
and grateful.

"But in the present circumstances
it would not be wise to advise Terra
of the true meaning of Nemo. To do
so would be tantamount to admitting
that our priority system is being
messed up at anybody’s whim. I hope
you see my point, Purcell.”

"I do, sir.”

"Therefore I propose to inform
Terra that the inclusion of this word
was due to a departmental error born
of overwork and lack of sufficient
manpower.” He exposed the teeth.
"That will give them something to
think about.”

"I’m sure it will, sir.”

"Purcell, I wish you to drop the
use of all code-words except with my
knowledge and approval. Meanwhile
I shall take the steps necessary to put
a stop to any further interference
with your department.”

"Thank you, sir.” Purcell stood up,
fumbled with his roll of paper, looked
hesitant.

142

"Is there something else?” asked
Vogel.

"Yes, sir.” Purcell registered
doubt, reluctance, then let the words
come out in a rush. "I thought this
might be an opportune moment to
bring to your attention a new form
I have devised.”

"A form?”

"Yes, sir.” He unrolled it, put one
end in Vogel’s hands. The other end
reached almost to the wall. "This,
sir, is a master-form to be filled up
with the origin, purpose, details,
progress and destination of every
other form that has to be filled in.
It is, so to speak, a form of forms.”
"Really?” said Vogel, frowning.
"By means of this,” continued Pur-
cell greasily, "it will be possible to
trace every form step by step, to
identify omissions or contradictions
and to name the individual responsi-
ble. Should a form get lost it will be
equally possible to find at what point
it disappeared and who lost it.” He
let that sink in, added, "From what
I know of interdepartmental confu-
sions, many of which are hidden from
senior officials, I estimate that this
form will save about twenty thousand
man-hours per annum.”

"Is that so?” said Vogel, little in-
terested.

"There is one snag,” Purcell went
on. “In order to save all that work
it will be necessary to employ more
people. Since their work would be
wholly co-ordinatory they would
come under your jurisdiction, thus
adding to your responsibilities.”
"Ah!” said Vogel, perking up.

ASTOUNDING SCIENCE FICTION

"In fact we’d have to create a new
department to reduce the total of
work done. However, I have studied
the subject most carefully and I am
confident that we could cope with a
minimum of thirteen men.”

"Thirteen?” echoed Vogel, count-
ing on his fingers. He sat staring at
the form while into his face crept a
look of ill-concealed joy. "Purcell, I
believe you have something here. Yes,
I really do.”

"Thank you, sir. I felt sure you
would appreciate the potentialities.
May I leave the form for your con-
sideration?”

"By all means, Purcell.” Vogel was
now well-nigh jovial. Fondly he
stroked the form, his fingers caress-
ing it. "Yes, you must certainly leave
it with me.” He glanced up, beaming.
"If anything is done about this, Pur-
cell, I shall need someone to take
charge of this new department. Some-
one who knows his job and in whom
I have the fullest confidence. I can-
not imagine a better candidate than
yourself.”

"It is kind of you to say so, sir,”
said Purcell with grave dignity.

He took his departure but as he
left he turned in the doorway and
for a moment their eyes met. A
glance of mutual understanding
sparked between them.

Back in his own office Purcell
plonked himself in a chair and re-
cited, "Whenever two soothsayers
meet in the street they invariably
smile at each other.”

"What are you talking about?” de-
manded Hancock.

I was quoting an ancient saying.”
He held up two fingers, tight to-
gether. Vogel and I are just like
that.”

You don t fool me,” Hancock
scoffed. "Your ears are still red.”
"Vogel loves me and I love Vogel.
I hit him right in his weak spot.”

"He hasn't any weak spots, see?”
"All I did,” said Purcell, "was
point out to him that if the number
of his subordinates should be in-
creased from ninety-two to one hun-
dred and five he’d be automatically
jacked up from a Class 9 to a Class
8 official. That would gain him an-
other seventeen hundred smackers per
year plus extra privileges and, of
course, a higher pension.”

"Nobody has to tell Vogel that —
he knows it better than anyone.”
"All right. Let’s say I merely re-
minded him. In return he was good
enough to remind me that a disabled
hero bossing twelve underlings is far
better off than one sharing an office
with a surly bum.”

"I neither ask nor expect the true
story of your humiliation,” growled
Hancock. "So you don’t have to cover
up with a lot of crazy double-talk.”
"Some day,” offered Purcell, grin-
ning, "it may dawn upon you that it
is possible to buck a system, any sys-
tem. All you need do is turn the
handle the way it goes — only more
so!”

"Shut up,” said Hancock, "and
talk when you can talk sense.”

STUDY IN STILL LIFE

THE END

143

THE REFERENCE LIBRARY

BY P. SCHUYLER MILLER

OF TIME
AND

THE WRITER

N LAST August’s issue,
I gave you gossip about
the Edgar Rice Bur-
roughs stories, "Beyond
Thirty” and "The Man-
Eater,” as fact. The publisher, Brad
Day, has been more than a little dis-

144

tressed about the possible damage to
his good name and shadow on his
integrity — which I'm sure nobody
has doubted — and wants to place the
following facts on record:

"The Copyright Office of the
Library of Congress furnished this
information: 'Beyond Thirty’ was
published in the February, 1916 is-
sue of All Around Magazine and
registered in the name of Street &
Smith, under B 353411, following
publication December 31, 1915.

Claim to renewal copyright was reg-

ASTOUNDING SCIENCE FICTION

istered under R 119046, upon an
application received in the name of
Street & Smith Publications, Inc., as
proprietors of a composite work on
June 17, 1943. Street & Smith as-
signed rights to 'Beyond Thirty’ to
Edgar Rice Burroughs in a document
executed on June 15, 1927, and re-
ceived by the Copyright Office on
July 2, 1927. Recorded: Vol. 183,
p. 46. Search in the Renewal Indexes
failed to disclose a renewal registra-
tion for a contribution to a periodical
under the name Edgar Rice Bur-
roughs and the title 'Beyond Thirty.’
" 'The Man-Eater’ — the second
Burroughs rarity in Brad Day’s recent
hardcover edition — was published in
The New York World as a six part
serial from November 15 to Novem-
ber 20, 1915, and was registered in
the name of The Press Publishing
Company. Search in the Renewal In-
dexes failed to disclose any renewal
registration of a claim to copyright.”
Translation? Both stories were
copyrighted by the original publish-
ers as part of the contents of the
magazine and newspaper in which'
they appeared. Copyright on "Be-
yond Thirty” was later reassigned to
Burroughs. Neither copyright was re-
newed when it expired, and anyone
who wants to do so can now reprint
the stories without permission from
the Burroughs estate or anyone else.

Two people have done so: the
anonymous publisher of the undated,
multilithed, paperback edition that
was peddled at SF conventions a year
or so ago, and Day with his attrac-
tive book. The alert salesmen of the

THE REFERENCE LIBRARY

paper edition certainly fostered the
impression that it would be suppress-
ed any day, and hence was an invest-
ment for collectors. I bit and bought.
Brad Day has never given this im-
pression, and I shouldn’t have at-
tached the gossip to his book. The
two stories are still rarities, whether
you like them as stories or not.

It’s fascinating to speculate on
why Burroughs asked to have the
copyright to "Beyond Thirty” assign-
ed to him in 1927. Checking in
Day’s "Edgar Rice Burroughs Bib-
ik),” you’ll see that he was at the
height of his writing career. "The
Moon Maid,” one of his best books
and the only other one, so far as I
can recall, laid in the future, had just
appeared. Amazing Stories Annual
was a sellout with his first Mars
story in five years, "The Mastermind
of Mars.” Blue Book was about to
start serializing one of his most popu-
lar Tarzan yarns, "Tarzan, Lord of
the Jungle.” Two non-SF books were
in the stores.

Burroughs may only have been
picking up rights to all his old stuff,
preparatory to taking over his own
publishing several years later. On the
other hand, he may have intended to
expand and extend "Beyond Thirty”
into a full-length novel. If he had,
the book might be one of his best,
for one of its faults in the present —
original — form is the way in which
big episodes of the sort Burroughs
handled well are collapsed into a few
pages.

Science fiction is particularly vul-
nerable to this need for revision and

145

up-dating, especially when a writer
has stuck his neck out and made pre-
dictions or extrapolated the science
of his time. Hugo Gernsback’s
"Ralph 124C 41— f-” — out now as a
Crest paperback — is chiefly notable/
today for the way in which Gerns-
back has not had to back down on
his predictions, although our technol-
ogy has gone well beyond him in
many ways. On the other hand, most
writers before 1939 were offhanded-
ly assuming that the way to atomic
energy lay through some manipula-
tion of radium. It was the most
potent radioactive element we knew,
so we used it — only to have uranium
become the actual power-element.
Stories from those times, reprinted
now, usually have to be rewritten to
keep them from seeming ridiculous
to a reader who sees them for the
first time.

A little more subtle is the question
of the writer’s attitudes, now and —
say — twenty years ago. Most SF writ-
ers seem to start young, and they
have young ideas, ideals and reac-
tions. These may change as they
mature; I can think of stories of my
own, written when I was in college,
that express attitudes and use stereo-
types that I wouldn’t be caught dead
using now. If those stories were to
be reprinted, they’d have to be re-
vised.

This seemed to be the issue in a
recent legal battle between Ernest
Hemingway and Esquire magazine.
I recommend an article in the Au-
gust 23rd Saturday Review, by Je-

rome Beatty, Jr., for the full story
and for a very thought-provoking
discussion of this whole question of
a writer’s old sins.

Hemingway was not — as the news-
papers assumed — trying to keep Es-
quire from putting his three old
stories of the Spanish Civil War into
an anthology because he no longer
held his then obvious Loyalist sym-
pathies. He had a more fundamental
objection, and one that brings about
far more rewriting than politics does.
He simply thought that the stories
weren’t as good — as well written —
as they should be, and he wanted to
do them over or scuttle them com-
pletely.

As Beatty points out in his article,
many writers,, great and not-great,
have done this. Kenneth Roberts,
whose historical novels- deliberately
try to recreate the mood and sub-
stance of their times, was continually
patching them ’up as new documents
turned up to alter statements he’d
made or scenes he’d created. Talbot
Mundy wanted the — first written —
"Queen Cleopatra” volume dropped
out of the "Tros of Samothrace” tri-
ology, which Gnome Press is now
reprinting, because as he made a
deeper study, of Cleopatra and her
times, he completely changed his
mind about her character. If he’d
lived, he would probably have re-
written the book from scratch. A.
Merritt was continually revising
parts of his books.

Readers often write me to raise
this question about the one-shot
novels from the old Startling, Tbrill-

146

ASTOUNDING SCIENCE FICTION

ing Wonder, and other magazines
that are now appearing as hardbound
and paperback books. Because I don’t
have the magazines where I can use
them, I usually don’t make the com-
parison myself — but we have a good-
ly number of critical readers who can
do the whole thing from memory, or
who have awfully good files. Some-
times — as Beatty points out — the au-
thor is restoring an original version
that the magazine editor changed.
Sometimes he is taking out stuff that
the editor wrote in himself, to fit a
house policy of some kind. Some-
times the book publisher wants the
manuscript cut to a specific length, so
that it will go on a specific number
of printed pages.

Sometimes the writer simply
changes his mind about what he
wants to do. Though I haven’t yet
read it. I’m told that T. H. White’s
"The Once and Future King” (Put-
nam, $4.95), an Arthurian fantasy
that we probably won’t review here
since it doesn’t pretend to depict
reality, has involved almost com-
plete rewrites of the second and
third parts, "The Witch in the
Wood” and "The Ill-Made Knight,”
as well as addition of a fourth, .new
part. They say he hasn’t harmed his
whole, great epic fantasy in the proc-
ess. On the other hand, you know
that I think "Doc” Smith did spoil
his "Len&man” series by putting into
the book versions a series of episodes
that spell out the behind-the-scenes
struggle of Arisia and Eddore. The
continuing, hidden mystery that was
an important factor in the original

versions, here in Astounding, has
been destroyed.

If you can lay hands on a Febru-
ary, 1949 issue of Thrilling Won-
der, you can decide for yourselves
how successful one case of revision
has been. It had a novelette or short
story, "The Weakness of RVOG,”
by James Blish and Damon Knight,
in which an invulnerable robot came
to Earth with the demand that we
destroy him — or be destroyed by his
masters. The problem: to find the
creature’s weak spot.

This story is now expanded into
"VOR,” by James Blish and pub-
lished as Avon Book No. T-238, for
thirty-five cents. Some say the revi-
sion has' spoiled the original story;
I happen to like it. Whatever your
opinion, it’s a good example of what
a serious writer like Blish does after
ten years.

The gimmick, now, is only super-
ficially the story; that has become
the personal life of Marty Petru-
celli, desk-pilot for the Civil Air Pa-
trol, who is afraid to fly again and
who is watching a flashy fly-boy steal
his wife. The monster from space
lands right in his lap, and he is — not
too probably — in from the beginning
on the struggle to communicate with
the thing, then when its demand is
known, to break through its de-
fenses. All along, he finds his per-
sonal problems getting in the way of
his technical job, exactly as they
would in reality.

Partly because Marty takes himself
out of the game in this way, Chris
Holm, the Atomic Energy Commis-

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147

sion’s investigator, turns into the real
hero of the book. To me, his even-
tual sacrifice seemed unnecessary; all
it accomplishes is to give the ball
back to Marty, who has to run with
it as we knew he would all along.
Blish handles such situations a lot
better than that nowadays, and I
can’t help feeling that either he or
Damon Knight — who seems to have
supplied the original gimmick —
would have come up with a better
book if they were now starting from
scratch.

If Hollywood gets its paws on
"VOR,” you’ll get one of two dia-
metrically opposite pictures. If it is
handled for the old Thrilling Won-
der, shocker values, it will be just
another monster-feature for the
drive-ins. But an intelligent director
who approaches it in the mood Blish
has now put into it, can make a real
show out of it. I hope someone will.

The Lincoln Hunters, by Wilson
Tucker. Rinehart & Co., New
York & Toronto. 1958. 221 pp.
$2.95

Rinehart is one major publisher
that isn’t ashamed to publish science
fiction and to call it just that. This
new, rather- short novel by the sage
of Bloomington is a pleasantly sus-
penseful variation on the time travel
theme. It isn’t up to the author’s
memorable "Long, Loud Silence”
but it’s his best in some time.

The book begins in Cleveland of
2578 A.D. — the year 334 of the new

148

era, after the blowup of human so-
ciety. The world is a feudal structure
of city states, totally regimented, in
which men have time travel but
haven’t reached the planets. Most of
the records of the past have been
lost, destroyed or distorted in the up-
heaval of the Second Revolution, and
an outfit known as Time Researchers
are kept busy probing selected cor-
ners of history for scientists or ani-
quarians.

One such collector, for whom they
have already salvaged Plymouth Rock,
wants a recording of Lincoln’s
famous "lost” speech, made on the
night of May 29, 1856 in Tucker’s
own home town of Bloomington,
Illinois. A team headed by Benjamin
Stewart, whose standing with, the au-
thorities is none too good, sets out
to get it. And trouble begins to
brew . . .

The first fix goes wrong, and
Stewart lands in Bloomington on the
morning after the speech, when he
was supposed to be reconnoitering
well in advance. He begins to find
evidence that something has gone
wrong with the job, but makes the
second trip anyway. And one of the
crew, the erratic, alcoholic ex-actor
Bobby Bloch, disappears.

Once before Stewart has had to
leave a fellow crewman behind, to
be hacked to pieces in a Roman
arena for the amusement of Antony
and Cleopatra. He won’t do it again.
Yet, thanks to the engineers’ blunder,
he has only a few hours to find
Bloch, before he will be in danger of
meeting himself and being destroyed.

astounding science fiction

The suspense mounts nicely, the
people of the story are all believable,
and Tucker has done an especially
good job of contrasting his unpleas-
antly stable future society with the
brash frontier of Lincoln's days. I
don’t suppose "The Lincoln Hunt-
ers” will win any prizes, but it’s one
of the best of the year.

The Blue Barbarians, by Stanton
A. Coblentz, Avalon Books, New
York. 1958. 223 pp. $2.75
The Barford Cat Affair, by P. H.
H. Bryan. Abelard-Schuman, New
York. 1958. 152 pp. $2.75

I am pairing these books for con-
trast, because they represent the ex-
tremes that satire can take in science
fiction. The Coblentz book is old-
fashioned, heavy-handed belaboring
of our society by setting up an obvi-
ously ludicrous parallel on another
planet — in this case Venus. It dates
from Amazing Stories Quarterly for
the summer of 1931, and for my
money is the best and most subtle of
the author’s unsubtle burlesques. The
Bryan book, on the other hand, is an
utter delight — underplayed as only
an Anglo-Irishman could do it, and
as modern as tomorrow.

"The Blue Barbarians” are the na-
tives of Venus, a businessmen’s cul-
ture broadly burlesqued from the
bottom of the Depression. They tear
around at high speed on motor roller-
skates, convert their forests into
gaudily dyed sawdust for the sake of
conspicuous waste, and rotate their

THE REFERENCE LIBRARY

civilization around the cult of gulgul
— their money, which happens to be
colored glass.

Erom Reve (Ever More, back-
ward), the hero, is the latest of sev-
eral pairs of explorers to try to land
on Venus. We are supposed to be-
lieve that mankind has spent eight
hundred thousand years on Earth
without doing this; now he’s forced
to find a refuge, for the Sun is cool-
ing and glaciers have covered most
of Earth. With a lanky poet and the
poet’s little dog, Reve is space-
wrecked — the "clouds” of Venus turn
out to be a shell of milling meteors
that act like a one-way mirror — cap-
tured, put in a zoo, released, put to
work in a sawdust factory — satire on
mechanization of industry — escapes,
makes some green gulgul and be-
comes a local tycoon, discovers and
rescues his predecessors, gets involved
in a planetary war, and so on. The
science didn’t hold together, even
then, and the satire is of the broad-
est, but Erom Reve and his compani-
on, Daolgi Kar, really take on a
certain amount of flesh and become
quite believable. Utterly unsubtle, but
quite enjoyable if you don’t take it
too seriously.

"The Barford Cat Affair,” on the
other hand, is -immensely subtle and
just as caustic a commentary on our
kind. It is the kind of thing George
Orwell did in "Animal Farm,” but
better.

Spurred by a few fanatics, the
"housekeepers” of the English city
of Barford have resolved to destroy
all cats . . . and the cats, as the only

149

really civilized people in town, take
steps to protect themselves. First
there’s a sit-down strike: no rats or
mice will be caught. Then there is
direct retaliation: one by one, key
figures in the opposition are picked
off and quietly eaten — the author of
the bill to obliterate cats, a pair of
sadistic boys, one of the city’s cat-
catchers. But this phase of the feline
underground is simply ignored: it’s
the rats that save the day.

The quiet, feline objectivity with
which the cats go to work on Bar-
ford is shivery. Their views of man-
kind, discussed in their occasional
parleys, are devastating. And at the
very end there is still another twist
that penetrates through the character
of cat-kind, right into the vitals of
man-kind again.

Unless you simply can’t stand this
kind of book, don’t overlook "The
Bai'ford Cat Affair.’’

Our Nuclear- Future, by Edward
Teller and Albert L. Latter. Cri-
terion Books, New York. 1958.
184 pp. $3.50

The main-line reviews of this book
have dwelt almost entirely on the
authors’ politics, and particularly on
what they have to say about H-bomb
testing. Dr. Teller needs no intro-
duction; he is now at the University
of California at Berkeley. Dr. Latter
is a theoretical physicist with the
Rand Corporation. Both men write
here somewhat as apologists for the
AEC point of view, that further

150

bomb tests are necessary and will
not do much harm, and it is on this
angle that the book has been review-
ed and attacked.

What has not been sufficiently em-
phasized is that here is one of the
clearest expositions of nuclear physics
that we have had from any writer.
If this is Latter’s contribution, more
power to him: I hope he keeps on
writing as lucidly about difficult mat-
ters. Nobody who reads the book
should have much difficulty under-
standing why fallout occurs, what its
dangers to us are, and what they may
become. The story is unfolded step
by step to the authors’ — and the
AEC’s — conclusion that the danger
of a nuclear war, brought about be-
cause we have not made the tests
necessary to develop sure, "clean”
nuclear weapons, is greater than the
direct or genetic harm from radi-
ation.

This is the vulnerable spot in the
book, and the one that has been at-
tacked to the exclusion of credit for
the good the main text will do. It
has been attacked mainly by laymen
and scientists who argue backward
from the conviction that the only
way to avoid a nuclear holocaust is
to have no nuclear weapons, and
that if you can’t have effective weap-
ons without tests, then we must stop
the tests. Having worked back to
this point, they then seize on any evi-
dence or indications that the tests
themselves are dangerous to our pres-
ent population.

I am quite sure these critics of the
Teller-Latter-Libby attitude ("testing

ASTOUNDING SCIENCE FICTION

is safe”) don’t know whether damage '
is being done or not, and certainly
not how much. On the other hand,
neither does the AEC yet know that
it isn’t being done. The facts simply
are not all in, and for my money
Teller and Latter do not make this
sufficiently clear. Neither — though
they discuss it — do they bear down
hard enough on the question of vari-
ation in the statistics we do have.

The point is that you tell a very
incomplete story when you argue
from averages, of whatever kind. If
the average fallout of Strontium 90 —
which is absorbed into the bones and
provides a radioactive source inside
the body — has a certain value, taken
over the world as a whole, then in
about half the world it will be less
than this average, but in the other
half it will be greater. By the same
token, the average .susceptibility of
people to radiation means very little
until you know the range of sus-
ceptibility: half the people exposed
will be injured by less radiation than
- the average tolerance would indicate,
and half can take more without dan-
ger.

There are tested statistical measures
to show what the spread in a set of
data is. They are used, for example,
in reporting radiocarbon ages of bur-
ied organic matter: the wood or char-
coal has a certain apparent age, plus
or minus a few hundred years’ sta-
tistical error. I assume — and I hope
— that the reason Teller and Latter
have not given such measures of
spread is that we simply don’t have
’em yet. Such measures mean very lit-

THE REFERENCE LIBRARY

tie unless they are based on a large
"universe” of data, and the data are
still scarce, but they are coming in.

On one statistical point, however,
the authors have made themselves
clear: the amount of fallout from
bomb tests made thus far is smaller
than the natural variation in radio-
activity from other sources, including
cosmic rays, X rays, radium in water
and on wristwatch dials, and the
natural radioactivity in bricks and
stone and concrete. This is what a
communications man would call the
"noise.”

This is a very hard thing to make
intelligible. On the surface, it seems
quite clear that if radioactivity is
dangerous, more radioactivity is more
dangerous. From this point of view,
it doesn’t help much to say that all.
the fallout from bomb tests is less
hazardous to you than vacationing in
the Rockies or drinking milk from a
cow that is pastured on acid soil, or
having your chest X-rayed. Still, I
wish Teller and Latter had tried to
make it clearer. I think they c-ould
have done it.

Invisible Barriers, by David Os-
borne. Avalon Books, New York.
1958. 223 pp. $2.75

This is one Avalon book that
hasn’t been cut; judging from the
type size, it’s been expanded from
the original in the December 1957
If, where the title was "And the
Walls Came Tumbling Down” and
the author called himself Robert

151

Silverberg, a person known from
other sources to exist.

We enter a future, not too far
ahead, in which isolationism and
anti-intellectualism have about reach-
ed the nadir. There are solid if in-
visible walls of prejudice around the
United States, and nothing beyond
them can even be mentioned on fear
of penalties for deviationism. TV
producer John Amory is doing the
best he can with the butchered scripts
that filter through the network’s
screening committee ("offend no-
body”), and he has friends among
the deviationist eggheads. Then, at a
party, he is drugged and wakes up
in the hands of three-eyed blue-skin-
ned aliens who want him to cull off
the best of Earth's culture for them.
Chance gives him a reason: the vis-
itors from the Lesser Magellanic
Cloud intend to sweep Earth clean
and move in, but they’d like a few
souvenirs of the natives.

So Amory sets out, by planned
deviationism, to break down the in-
visible barriers and let the world in,
in time to present a united front to
the invaders.

The gimmick is good, the setting
is consistent if sketchy — there were
only sixty pages in the magazine,
after all — but the ending is a dis-
appointment. All in all, a time-
marker. Silverberg is doing better
than this.

Invaders From Earth, by Robert
Silverberg.

Across Time, by David Grinnell.

Ace Books, New York. D-286.

169 + 150 pp. 35tf

As a matter of fact, here is Silver-
berg doing a good deal better in half
— and the better half — of a book
that costs you 35 cents instead of
$2.75. There are no credits, so it may
be an original. (I'll be corrected by
our readers if it isn’t, but by that time
it will be much too late to apologize
to you.)

We are taken into the subtly dif-
ferent world of the Twenty-first
Century gray flannel, Ivy League set
where Ted Kennedy is a promising
young man in one of New York’s
biggest public relations firms. Extra-
terrestrial Development and Explor-
ation Company has found valuable
minerals on Ganymede, but it has al-
so found an intelligent, somewhat
civilized race that doesn't want to be
overrun. Steward and Dinoli, Ted’s
bosses, are hired to produce an at-
mosphere in which Extraterrestrial
can wipe out the Gannies with full
public support, and with United Na-
tions funds.

— This is the best part of the book.
Ted has qualms, but it’s his job. He
comes up with the prime gimmick of
the campaign: a faked colony, which
will be massacred by the fiendish
Gannies and trigger the reprisals.
His wife, however, is a socially
oriented girl who can’t see that the
end— a job to be done — justifies
such means. Finally Ted is sent to
Ganymede and undergoes a change
of attitude when he learns what the

152

ASTOUNDING SCIENCE FICTION

Gannies — and the Company — are

really like. This is the least con-
vincing part: the Company’s real mo-
tives never quite make sense. But it’s
an excellent yarn on all counts, and
the picture of New York’s Twenty-
first Century equivalent of Madison
Avenue is solid — better than the
Pohl-Kornbluth "Gravy Planet,’’ in
fact.

The flip half of the double book is
a reprint of the 1957 Avalon hard-
back, a fairly ordinary time-mixup
with some good parts, but nothing
extra. Silverberg is why you buy
this one.

Lest We Forget Thee, Earth, by

Calvin M. Knox.

People Minus X, by Raymond Z.

Gallun. Ace Books, New York.

No. D-291. 126 + 160 pp. 35*

The new part of this book, the
story by Calvin Knox, is supposed
to have created some stir in Science
Fiction Adventures last year, where
it appeared in three novelettes as the
"Chalice of Death" series. It starts
very well, but doesn’t hold . up —
probably because its hero’s main
problem had to be solved by the end
of the first story.

The time is a round hundred thou-
sand years in the future, when an
Earth-born empire has spread through
space and finally collapsed of its own
weight. Earth is lost and forgotten,
but Earthmen hold a jealously pro-
tected place as advisers to scores of
petty and not-so-petty emperors scat-

THE REFERENCE LIBRARY

tered over space. Hallam Navarre,
Earthman to the Court of Jorus, lets
himself be suckered into a quest for
a mythical "Chalice of Life," lost in
the legends of Earth. If the whole
yarn had been the expanded story of
Navarre’s search for Earth, in the
manner of Jack Vance’s memorable
Big Planet,” it would have been a
better book. As it is, Earth is found
all too quickly and easily, its sleep-
ing people are resurrected, and the
remaining two thirds of the story
switch to assorted plot and counter-
plot as Navarre and his friends try
to keep the new Earth from being
wiped out.

Gallun’s half was a Simon &
Schuster original hardback last year
— another variant on the mutants,
androids, and microscopic men
themes. It moves fast and is well
done, but isn’t quite convincing. It’s
worth the 35 cents, though.

The Third Galaxy Reader, edited
by H. L. Gold. Doubleday & Co.,
Garden City, N. Y. 1958. 262 pp.
$3.95.

If you read more than one science-
fiction magazine, the chances are —
especially if you don’t care for fan-
tasy — that the other one is Galaxy.
In this anthology, it’s editor has se-
lected from the magazine’s last three
years to give you a really excellent
collection of fifteen stories, a couple
of them by promising new names in
the field.

I think my favorite of the lot is

153

the story that closes the book, the to save mankind from an alien in-

previously anthologized "Game of vasfon.

Rat and Dragon,” by Cordwainer One of the new writers, Finn
Smith, which creates a partnership of O’Donnevan, uses "A Wind Is Ris-

men and cats to destroy the perils of mg” to show us a strange other

an interdimensional universe. But planet — something that’s been neg-

there are other excellent stories here, lected lately. Isaac Asimov, who

too. The opener, Theodore Cogs- needs no introduction here, points

well’s "Limiting Factor,” gives us a out that "Ideas Die Hard” in a story

new twist on Homo superior and with a twist to the -twist to the

makes an interesting companion twist. Lester del Rey’s "Dead

piece to Heinlein’s "Methuselah’s Ringer,” Frederik Pohl’s "The

Children,” just published by Gnome Haunted Corpse,” and Damon

Press. Robert Sheckley’s "Protection” Knight’s "Man in the Jar” are mid-
is a characteristic little yarn on the dle-of-the-road stories about strange

subject of guardian angels. Evelyn powers. William Morrison’s "The

Smith’s delightful "The Vilbar Model of a Judge” is in the mood

Party” brings an ivory-towerish pro- of "Vilbar Party”; — an extra-terres-

fessor from Saturn to Earth, and F. trial coping with human foibles: in

L. Wallace’s "End as a World” is this case, a cake-baking contest,

just a shade too long for its "Volpla” by Wyman Guin is another

theme. of my favorites: the nicely done story

Two of the volume’s other top of a biologist who breeds a race of

stories come side by side: Fritz Lei- little winged folk. And finally, Clif-

ber’s "Time in the Round” and ford D. Simak’s "Honorable Oppo-

Avram Davidson’s wonderful "Help ! nent” gives a new twist to the

I Am Dr. Morris Goldpepper.” Lei- philosophy of war.

ber, as usual, has painted an impres- From where I sit, I’d say this is
sionist’s portrait of a strange future the best of the three Galaxy collec-

society, in which children’s place is tions. Certainly, it’s the best since

bizarre but important. Davidson, his Number One. May they keep on corn-

tongue doubtless in the hole left by ing---and will some publisher per-

a missing wisdom tooth, has at last suade John Campbell to keep on

permitted the dentists of the world doing the same for this magazine?

154

ASTOUNDING SCIENCE FICTION

BRASS TACKS

Dear Mr. Campbell :

Your editorial re ” Hyperdemocra-
cy” in the August, 1958 issue has
rung a fine bell in political science.

To digress, I have been a reader
of the genre since 1923. I started at
the age of eight. (No typographical
error in the starting year).

Actually, this is the second letter
I have ever written to an editor. The
first was back about 1932 or 1933
when I wanted Wonder Stories to
continue.

Take it back — there was a third;
this was when I wanted to see Ray
Palmer continue in the business a few
years ago, and I sent in a subscrip-
tion to a magazine of his to help
him keep going. (Though I still de-
plore his Shaver, et al, in Amazing .)

The important thing is that for. a

number of years now, both indepen-
dents and many liberals have been
puzzled on the very point you raise.

Your editorial answers the point
beautifully.

Nevertheless, your choice of ex-
amples is not very good.

You state "if you are lucky, and
accidentally discover an oil well, and
make ten millions or so, that isn’t
earned income, and you aren’t punish-
ed for it. There’s only a twenty-five
per cent capital gains tax.

’’If, however, you make an inven-
tion, and license the invention to
many companies, and the invention
is of great value so that royalties
amount to $10,000,000 — that’s anti-
social. It’s well-earned income, and
is punishable with a ninety per cent
fine.”

BRASS TACKS

155

The examples chosen show only
the product of a certain method of
teaching; indeed a sort of brain
washing. The remarkable thing about
your editorial is that you have risen
above the4xamples to present a truth
to the American nation.

( 1 ) Though finding an oil well is
a lucky accident — or faith, or hunch,
or whatever you want to call it —
only one out of ten wells drilled in
the United States ever produces oil.
From experience, the cost of an aver-
age deep well — about four thousand
feet plus equipment if it is a producer
— is over fifty thousand dollars. The
greatest cost is in the drilling. Add
to this the time of recovery of the
initial investment. Most states, ex-
cept Colorado, put oil production on
a pro rata basis. For example, in Kan-
sas, a well that can produce three
thousand barrels a day is held to a
maximum of sixty barrels a day. At
less than three dollars a barrel, gross,
you can easily figure out how long it
takes that one well to pay out and
get even. Only the landowner, except
for taxes, gets a free ride. He re-
ceives a set amount per acre of his
land until a well is drilled. If a well
is drilled and becomes a producer,
he receives one eighth of the income
without any expense to himself. He
is also reimbursed for any "dam-
age” to his land or crops. The oil
producer does receive a twenty-seven
and one half per cent depletion al-
lowance, tax-wise, — based on the fact
that as the oil is taken out of the
ground there is consequently less oil
that can be removed from that par-

156

ticular well. However, compare this
with depreciation allowance on equip-
ment, buildings, et cetera, in any busi-
ness or industry.

Add to this the fact that all inde-
pendent, little, oil men — who drill
nine tenths of the oil wells in the
United States — are at the mercy,
price-wise and every other direction,
of both the big oil companies and
the government (imports) and you
can, I think, easily see the position
of the typical oil man today.

Further, the only way an oil man
can take advantage of capital gains
is to sell his interest in a producing
well or wells. This sounds good until
you realize one thing; the price for
producing property is only the esti-
mated income of the property for a
three-year, or two-and-one-half year,
period. This for a well or wells that
might produce for thirty to fifty
years, and, in toto, over a six-year
period will produce at least twice the
amount of the selling price — plus the
fact that the buyer will have advan-
tage of the twenty-seven and one half
depletion allowance.

But the oil man, the small one, is
an incurable optimist. He wants to
keep drilling, and he must keep drill-
ing to be happy — something like the
old prospector, he keeps hoping to
hit a million-dollar proposition. In
the meantime, to keep operating, he
must sell what production he has
achieved in order to keep going.

Incidentally, oil imports don't hurt
the big oil companies — only the little
fellow. Remember this, when the big
companies are importing oil — sup-

ASTOUNDING SCIENCE FICTION

posedly helping our poor neighbors —
they put the products in their stations'
at the same price as the domestic oil.
In the meantime they pay the domes-
tic little guy only what they want to
pay.

Even so, most of the price of gaso-
line and oil products is tax money,
not the actual price.

However, I might add; oil from
the Near East, et cetera, counting
transportation costs and everything,
can be put into United States stations
— gasoline stations that is — for under
one dollar — a barrel that is. You
may have a friend in the big com-
pany industry who will dispute this.
Look it up for yourself.

(2) On the other hand, let us look
at the holder of a patent. Recogniz-
ing his difficulties; among them the
cost of lawyers, the tracing of previ-
ous patents, the stealing of ideas,
et cetera, let us go beyond that. Let
us say all those expensive, irritating
problems are out of the way. These
are similar to the cost of drilling of
an oil man, without being quite as
expensive, generally speaking.

In the ordinary course of events
the holder of a patent is either a cor-
poration or an individual. Usually,
if an individual, he has a job with
some measures of security, except in
such cases as where his contract calls
for all new ideas to be owned by
the corporation. The typical oil man
has no security except as he makes it
for himself. Not that an invention
invalidates the inventor’s security. It
may or may not.

I agree that the inventor, where he

is receiving money benefits from his
invention, is still unfairly treated. He
should have the same depletion or
depreciation allowance for his inven-
tion that declining earning power,
life of patent, or brainpower shows
to be necessary. Such a scale should
be set up.

None of this, of course, changes
the . fact that your choices of exam-
ples were poor, and, in themselves,
hurt your premise on hyper-democra-
cy — true as your political science
might be. — Duane Solter, 220 Wood
Lane, Wichita 12, Kansas.

But you’re talking about a man who
earns an oil well — not about one
who accidentally discovers one!
You’re talking about the man who
earns a living by finding oil wells;
naturally, since his success is an
earned success, he must be ap-
propriately punished. As you truly
state, only the man who accidental-
ly owned the piece of land under
which someone else searched for
and found the oil makes money on
it! He has a right to wealth, you
see, because he did nothing to earn
it — it just happened to him.

Dear John:

Readers interested in Finagle’s
Constant, the Bugger Factor, Mur-
phy’s Law, Parkinson’s Law and
other astute discoveries in the on-
ward march of science will naturally
want to keep abreast of events. I am
happy to report that at a recent con-

157

BRASS TACKS

vention of the STDK (Society for
Those Dazed by Knowledge) . some
intriguing papers were read upon the
following:

Brumfit’s Law: That the critical
mass of any do-it-yourself explosive
is never less than half a bucketful.
This was demonstrated by Emmanuel
Brumfit at the age of twelve. He
mixed half an ounce of gunpowder,
applied a match and nothing happen-
ed. He added more of this, that and
the other, applied another match.
Nothing happened. He went on add-
ing and mixing without result. The
volume reached exactly half a bucket-
ful when he applied match number

fifty-four and went out the window
without bothering to open it.

Yapp’s Basic Fact: That if a thing
cannot be fitted into something small-
er than itself some dope will do it.
This was discovered by Harold Poin-
dexter Yapp at the remarkable age
of seven. He proved it to the com-
plete satisfaction of two hundred
onlookers including one regarded as
a scientific expert — a mortician. He
trapped his head in a fence and had
to be sawn out by the local fire de-
partment.

Potter’s Theorem: That the great-
est possible prime number is equal
to infinity minus one. By profession
Horace Potter is a whacks’ wheeler
and probably the world’s greatest ex-
pert at shoving a coffee truck around
the corridors to the other inmates.
Like Fermat, he got to his theorem
intuitively. But quite recently he came
up with incontrovertible proof. It
can’t be controverted because nobody
can figure how forty-two cans of
tuna-fish get into the calculations.—
Eric Frank Russell.

And that should be enough to end

Finagleing for good!

Dear Ed:

Pertaining to the article "Divining
Rod, Standard Equipment”:

My God, it works! — T. H. Mil-
ton, 324 17th Street, Dunbar, West
Virginia.

Thought we were kidding, huh?

MOVING?

Going to have a new address?

We con'l send your regular Astounding
SCIENCE FICTION along if you don’t
warn us ahead of lime. If you’re going
to move, let us know six weeks in ad-
vance. Otherwise you'll have a neglected
mailbox!

Write SUBSCRIPTION DEPT.

Astounding SCIENCE FICTION
304 East 45th St.. New York 17. N. Y.

THE END

158

ASTOUNDING SCIENCE FICTION

( Continued from page 7)
by buried water, gas, or sewer pipes.
For the steel company engineers, they
locate buried pipes of any kind; the
engineers want to know where the
pipes are so that, in driving piling,
they won’t hit them.

Science has ducked the issue of
studying psi very simply; it has
denied that there is any phenomenon
to study.

In doing so, it is denying a truth
— an unpleasant, perhaps disastrous,
truth.

The Department of Agriculture I
mentioned didn’t continue their in-
vestigations — they denied them.

The engineering use of dowsing
rods is widespread today, in the
United States, in every state of the
Union. There are companies manu-
facturing dowsing rods such as Mark-
lund uses, and they can be bought
from suppliers anywhere in the coun-
ty

One company manufacturing them
is 'the Jayco Company, of Bir-
mingham, Michigan; they sell them
as the Ayco Pipe Locators.

They are used, strictly at the en-
gineering rule-of-thumb level, by
men who find they do a job no other
known device will do. They are,
?imply, pragmatically economical of
time and effort. Such men will not
waste their time and effort convinc-
ing you they work; they have a job
to do, and if you don’t like their
tools, that is, of course, your busi-
ness, so far as they’re concerned.

Science, I can say flatly, with plenty

WE MUST STUDY PSI

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of solid evidence to back it up, is
wrong. Dowsing rods, used to locate
pipes underground, do work. Science
is simply, explicitly, wrong in deny-
ing the phenomenon.

And this, I propose, is the place
that we must start studying. We must,
whether we like it or not — and be-
lieve me, from what little studying
I’ve done, we won’t like it. ■

Psi phenomena exist at the same
level that emotion, desire, and want
do, as far as I can make out. If that’s
the case, then in studying the psi
phenomena, you’re studying the level
which men, today, hold to be the ulti-
mate level of privacy — Subjective
Reality. An understanding of the
laws of this level would make it pos-

159

sible to manipulate desire, change
attitudes, control emotions.

And that, of course, no man wants
possible.

Of all the things Logic and Phi-
losophy and Science have investi-
gated, Emotion, certainly one of the
most tremendously important in all
human affairs, has been least investi-
gated. Essentially, Science and Logic
and Philosophy have agreed on only
one thing for sure; "It shouldn’t
exist! Get rid of it! It just fouls
everything beyond hope of straight-
ening out ! Stop it — destroy it —
stamp it out!”

Psychology, of course, has had to
deal with the anathematized stuff. But
even psychology seeks to eliminate
it from patients; it’s an unfortunate,
intractable human weakness that must
be dealt with.

A logician’s attitude toward emo-
tion is startlingly similar to that of a
Victorian maiden lady toward Sex.
The nasty stuff shouldn’t exist, and
certainly decent people won’t talk
about it or investigate it.

Emotion is, essentially, beyond any
possibility of logical analysis; it’s an
individual’s reaction to his perception
of subjective reality. And so long as
"subjective” has the semantic conno-
tation of "not real,” logic certainly
isn’t going to be able to get a real
solution to the problem.

I suggest that Subjective Reality
bears the same relationship to Objec-
tive reality that field-forces do to mat-
ter. Field forces are not material;
they obey wildly different laws — but
they do obey laws.

160

I suggest that Subjective Reality is
a true, inherent level of reality in the
Universe. It’s no more something ex-
clusively generated by human minds
than "organic” chemical compounds
were exclusively generated by living
organisms. For all men knew, as little
as one hundred fifty years ago, the
ability to perceive light was a subjec-
tive mystery; no known inorganic
system had the ability.

It took the development of quan-
tum physics to explain the interaction
of electromagnetic radiation and mat-
ter sufficiently to make photoelectric
cells possible. Eyes, however, had
been around for some megayears be-
fore that.

To date, no interaction between psi
forces and either material or field-
force phenomena has ever been dis-
covered. Considering the extreme
resistance to serious study of psi phe-
nomena, however, that’s not exactly
surprising. Isaac Newton tried,
Oliver Lodge tried — and their efforts
in that direction have been hushed
up as the indiscretions of two other-
wise great men. Probably they didn’t
have enough data on either psi phe-
nomena or physics when they work-
ed; maybe something more useful
could be achieved now.

And we must achieve it.

Every human effort to build i dy-
namically stable civilization — every
effort, without exception — has foun-
dered on the problem of emotions,
desires, and the demagoguery that
those uncontrolled wild variables in-
troduce.

ASTOUNDING SCIENCE FICTION

And the very best advice Logicians,
Philosophers and Scientists have had
has been . . . '-There shouldn't be
any such things ! Suppress them !
Deny them! Do away with them!”

And, every time without exception,
they have, instead, done away with
ihe philosophers, logicians, scientists
and egg-heads.

You can’t control a phenomenon
by denying its existence. You can’t
control it by suppressing it either;
suppression simply causes an energy-
storage effect that leads to eventual
explosive release. If there’s a river
flowing through a valley where you
want to build a city, it’s rather futile
to simply build a dam to block the
river; eventually the dam will be
burst by the building pressure, and
the city wiped out in the resultant
flood.

A phenomenon can be controlled
only by acknowledging it, studying it,
understanding it, and directing it
usefully. Properly handled, that river
should be dammed, channeled
through turbines, and made to supply
the city with light and power.

But emotion is the despair of logi-
cians; it is inherently nonlogical. It’s
the effort to force it into logic-only
channels that causes the explosions
that wreck every culture Man has
ever built. Uniformly, repeatedly,
one hundred per cent of the cases on
record.

Evidently what we need is a non-
logical technique of analytical think-
ing — a method of thinking that is
more-than-logical. A not-logical-but-
rational technique.

WE MUST STUDY PSI

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Trouble is, every individual is in-
ternally convinced that he’s already
solved the problem, and is using it
right now. And is emotionally will-
ing to work, fight, and, in fact, die
for its conclusions. His method of
fighting may, for emotional reasons,
be limited to a simple absolute re-
fusal, even if he is killed for it — but
Ghandi demonstrated that that, too,
is a means of destructive fighting.

We must study psi, because it is
the only objectively observable set of
phenomena stemming from subjective
forces.

Logic was developed and corrected
and forged into a reliable tool be-

161

cause objectively observable phenom-
ena could be used as a check on the
validity of logical methods. Logic
that didn’t correlate with objective
phenomena could be eliminated, -and
logical methods that did work could
be proved — in the more ancient
meaning of "tested” — by objective
experience.

The psi phenomena represent sub-
jective phenomena that can be ob-
served objectively.

When a man uses dowsing rods,
the rods don’t do anything but act
as indicators — the man does it. He
uses some subjective-level-of-the-
universe phenomena; he does it, not
the rods.

But he does something .that isn’t
scientific, in the truest sense of that
statement; the phenomena involved
are hyper-scientific. If "natural" and
"scientific” are correlated on a one-
to-one basis, then what he does is
truly supernatural.

Fine; now we know that, and ac-
knowledge that, let’s start looking
into the nature of the supernatural.
It, too, must have laws!

In order to understand psi, we are
going to have to develop a totally
new kind of analytical thinking;
known psi phenomena violate the in-
verse square law, the distance-law,
and every other basic law of Science
and Logic. They viplate the basic law
of Semantics; the map is the terri-
tory! What is done to the map, is in
fact done to the territory — and treat-
ing a photograph kills Japanese bee-
tles on a farm five hundred miles
away.

162

That is absolute scientific nonsense
— logically impossible!

Good; now inasmuch as it does
happen . . . what are the laws of
thought, of analytical thinking, that
do explain such things? Let us fully
understand and agree that it is scien-
tifically impossible, and logically non-
sense.

But let us be honest; we do not
annihilate the phenomenon by deny-
ing the fact that it happens.

As of now, Russia’s got us licked
at the level of science and logic.
We’re ahead by reason of progress
we made earlier, but our rate of accel-
eration has dropped way down, while
theirs is rising.

In Russia, people truly desire sci-
ence.

In the United States, they do not
desire science, and do desire stability
and traditions.

We must study psi — even though
it will mean development of tech-
niques that will force you, against
your will and wish, to desire things
that, today, you loathe.

And such psi phenomena as dows-
ing rods that work for eighty per
cent of the people, when used to lo-
cate buried pipes, are key facts —
objectively observable phenomena —
that can lead to breaking the problem
of subjective- level reality.

If it was important for the United
States to develop the thermonuclear
bomb . . . then

We must study psi!

The Editor.

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